


adversus solem ne loquitor

by o_rcrist



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_rcrist/pseuds/o_rcrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Egnatius has long since grown tired of the poor showings of blood in Demascus. He travels to the House of Batiatus to secure gladiators for his games in Capua, where the lanista proudly boasts of his men. Egnatius challenges Batiatus’ boasts, and his body slave Tiberius finds himself drawn into a bet between the Romans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deals Struck

**Author's Note:**

> Egnatius (Tiberius' dominus) is my own creation.

Tiberius silently followed Egnatius through the villa as he conversed with the lanista Batiatus. The two men were making small talk, of politics and the latest gladiator games that had taken place in the arena in Capua.

“My very reason for my visit good Batiatus,” dominus said. “I have long since grown tired of watching the games in Damascus. Some of the poorest showings of blood I have ever beheld. I wish to see a true contest in the arena, with only the finest gladiators.

The lanista was quick to reply, “Only the finest are offered in the House of Batiatus. Come and examine my wares.” He led Egnatius out onto a balcony, looking over a barren square of land where dozens of men trained. The two men went and peered over the edge, while he stood a few feet behind them. He could see several of the farther men as they trained, wielding practice swords, and delivering blow after blow to their opponents. They were covered in sand and dust, sweat gleaming on their muscles.

“A fine selection,” Egnatius told Batiatus. The lanista causally began to name the gladiators, and there various victories in the arena. Tiberius assumed that the ones named were those who consistently stood victorious in the arena, and would provide his dominus with the blood he so desired.

Egnatius cut off Batiatus, who was boasting of the Champion of Capua, and Tiberius could see the brief flash of annoyance on the lanistas face before it was quickly hidden.

“I would go down among them, and get a closer look.” It was not a request, but a demand.

Batiatus nodded his head quickly, “Off course Egnatius.” He led the way from the balcony, through the villa, down rock stairs into the ludus below, where a guard unlocked a metal gate. The difference between them was astounding. The villa had been gleaming, every surface shined to perfection, every object elegant and fragile. The ludus was carved out of the cliff itself, with the walls roughly hewn, and there was little light, save what the torches provided.

They followed Batiatus through the halls to the square they had been looking down upon only moments before. The gladiators were even more impressive, standing only a few feet from them now.

“My titans!” Batiatus cried out. The gladiators instantly stopped in their training, and turned to face there dominus. An imposing looking man approached them. He was dark of skin, and was dressed quite differently from the gladiators, wearing breeches and a worn leather jerkin. A whip was in his hand, and Tiberius had no doubt it was often put to use. The man bowed his head to Batiatus, and stood beside him.

“Doctore, good Egnatius is here to select gladiators for his games.”

 The man nodded his head, stepping away from them and back into the light. With a quick flick of his wrist, his whip cracked against the ground. “Gladiators, pair up!”

The men instantly paired together, and resumed fighting once again. Where before Tiberius had heard the occasional laugh from the men, they were now silent, with only grunts and groans occasionally being heard above the clash of wood in the square.

“Behold the finest gladiators in all of the Republic,” Batiatus boasted, his arms spread wide.

Egnatius’ lip curled in a grin that he was more than familiar with. It was one that often adorned his face when he was feeling particularly greedy. “They truly are a marvel.”

Egnatius left the shade and moved into the light, “I see you have acquired new gladiators as of late.” He motioned to the edge of the cliff, and moved forward towards the two men. Tiberius followed behind, his eyes on the two men as well. They looked quite similar, and Tiberius thought they might be brothers. The larger of the two was advancing, delivering blow after blow to the smaller man.

Batiatus was quick to reply, “They are two of my newest men. Agron and Duro, brothers from East of the Rhine.”

As Batiatus spoke their names, they paused in there fighting, and turned to face there dominus. Despite the beating the smaller man had just taken from his brother, they were both grinning.

“Agron,” the larger of the men stepped forward, green eyes meeting his for a moment before Tiberius lowered his to the ground, his face flushing with heat. “Duro,” he could just see the smaller brother step forward.

Egnatius slowly circled Agron and Duro, his eyes taking in every inch of the gladiators. Tiberius could see the two men shift uncomfortably under his dominus’ gaze, but they remained silent. The curse of being a slave. “They are of a fine form. Have they set foot in the arena yet?”

Tiberius’ eyes flicked to the Batiatus, strangely finding himself eager to hear the answer as well.

“They have not yet been awarded the opportunity. Your games would be the opportune moment though. Both have fire in them, one that demands blood, lest it die.”

His eyes wandered back to the Germans. He could see the brothers exchange a glance, twin grins curling their lips. He felt his own lips form a small smile, as he watched them.

Egnatius laughed, “Well stated Batiatus. I believe they will make a fine addition to my games.”

Batiatus grinned, “They shall, and give you the blood you so desire. Any challenger to my men is no more threat than a common house slave.”

Egnatius’ eyes suddenly fell to Tiberius, and he instantly averted his eyes, looking back to the brothers. Agron met his gaze, and somehow the gladiator must have known what Egnatius would demand next, as his grin quickly fell from his face.

“If I may, I would see such a thing put to action,” Egnatius smoothly replied.

“Of course.” Batiatus turned back to Doctore, “Fetch one of the ludus slaves and give him a sword.” The man made to move away back into the ludus, but Egnatius quickly stopped them.

“I fear your slaves may have advantage Batiatus. They may have not been trained as gladiators, but they watch these men every day. Surely they have picked up a trick or two. I would see one with no advantage put to the test.”

Annoyance briefly flashed across the lanistas face again, before he was smiling again. “Who would you have challenge them then?”

With a few quick steps, his dominus was standing in front of Tiberius, roughly grabbing his chin, and forcing his gaze from the gladiators. “Tiberius will face one of them.” Tiberius lifted his eyes to meet Egnatius’ above him, and he trembled from what he saw in them. A cruel laugh escaped his dominus lips before he released his hold on him, and shoved him toward the brothers.

Agron and Duro’s faces were full of confusion, and if he was not mistaken, he could see anger on Agrons. Before he could think more of it, one of the ludus slaves was holding out a practice sword to him. He reached out to take it, but before he could, Egnatius spoke out again.

“I would see wood replaced with steel.”

The slave looked to Batiatus, who nodded, and quickly ran off to obey his dominus. Moments later he was back, and held out the sword to him. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt, it was heavier than he had imagined. He looked over to the German brothers, and saw Agron exchange his practice sword for steel as well.

Tiberius then realized that the rest of the gladiators had stopped in their training as well. He could feel their eyes boring into his back, as Agron approached him. He knew he was no match for the gladiator. Agron was almost a foot taller than him, and far outweighing himself. The ease that the gladiator handled his sword with told Tiberius that Agron had wielded a sword for most of his life.  Gladiators, as a rule, were often men who had been captured in foreign wars, their skills put to use in the arena for the amusement of the Romans.

Despite this, Tiberius was determined to prove he _could_ fight. He raised the sword up, wishing he had a shield to use as Agron did. The gladiator grinned at him, holding his sword at his side instead.

“Begin,” ordered Egnatius.

Agron immediately raised his sword, attempting to strike at his side. Tiberius just managed to block the blow, stopping the steel before it sliced his arm. His muscles protested at the sudden abuse, but he ignored it, instead pressing his weight back, forcing Agron’s sword away from him. The grin was still on the gladiators face as he allowed Tiberius to push him back, giving him a small nod. An encouragement for Tiberius to continue fighting. His lips twitched, as he swung his sword at Agron. The gladiator lifted his sword, easily blocking the blow. Tiberius quickly pulled his sword back, and struck out again.

He was rewarded for his efforts, his blade scratching Agrons left arm, a small streak of blood on his sword. His eyes met Agrons, and he was surprised. He had expected to see anger and annoyance in his green eyes, but instead an encouraging smile.

He could hear Egnatius behind him, “You say any who stand before your men are nothing more than common house slaves, yet mine has drawn blood from your man.” The displeasure in his dominus voice was evident. It struck Tiberius hard. His dominus _wanted_ him bloody upon the sands, begging for his life.

“Agron but extends the amusement, as all gladiators do. There is no entertainment in an overly brief match.” The lanistas reply made his blood boil. Was that what Agron was doing? Toying with him? _Allowing_ Nasir to wound him, for the entertainment of the others? A fire ignited in him. He would prove them all wrong.

He hissed, swinging his sword at Agron once more. He heard the laugh of the gladiators behind him, calling him a wild dog. He ignored their jests, swinging his sword again and again, trying to draw blood once again from the gladiator. He was fast, but the gladiator was faster than he was, blocking each strike from Tiberius. His frustration intensified when he saw the grin that still adorned Agrons face.

The sword was growing heavier in his hand, and he knew his blows were weakening. He was soon blocking Agrons strikes, as the gladiator forced him to the center of the square. The gladiator swung his sword at Tiberius, knocking his sword from his own grasp, and then pushed forward with his shield, knocking him to the ground.

Tiberius grunted as his back hit the sand. The others were laughing, as he pushed himself up. He looked for his sword, but a second later he was forced to abandon his search for it, as Agrons sword swung through the air again. He ducked underneath it, only for Agrons shield to hit him across the face, knocking him back to the ground once more. His mouth filled with blood, before he spat it out onto the sands.

He looked up, to where Egnatius stood, and was enraged to find his master laughing at him.

A strong hand pulled him from the sand and onto his knees; he could feel the cold steel as it was placed on his shoulder. He didn’t even bother to look up. He’d seen countless gladiators in this position, and he knew that his life was in Egnatius’ hands.

“Your man is not without skill, but Agron stands victorious, as he will in your games,” Batiatus said. “As editor you shall be the one to pass judgment. How do you decide for your man?”

Tiberius had little hope for survival. His dominus had a savage streak, and while he was valued as a body slave, he could easily be replaced by a dozen others in his master’s villa. He closed his eyes, waiting for his dominus to command Agron to end his life.

“Let him live. Men of his talents are hard to come by, and that alone warrants life. At least until I can find one who betters him.” Batiatus and Egnatius laughed, as did the gladiators in the square. The hand on his shoulder released him, but he stayed where he was, his anger boiling up inside him.

Batiatus spoke again, “See him to the Medicus, and then back to the villa.”

One of the gladiators stood in front of him, offering a hand. He shoved it away, “I do not need your fucking help.” The gladiator laughed as he stood, and he found that it was Agron who stood before him.

The gladiator was grinning, and he had the overwhelming urge to punch it off his face. He just suffered defeat at the man, what more could he want? To gloat?

Doctore approached, and pointed him to where the Medicus was. Tiberius nodded his thanks, and walked to where Doctore had pointed.

He knew Agron followed him, but choose to ignore the man. The Medicus had him sit on one of the benches, as the man inspected his mouth. He winched slightly, his jaw was sensitive where Agron’s shield had slammed into it.

“Nothing is broken, be grateful for that. The swelling should go down in a few days, and leave no trace of the wound.” Tiberius nodded, and the Medicus handed him a strange looking root. He raised his eyebrows at the Medicus, who rolled his eyes, “Its mandrake root. Chew on it to numb the pain.” He nodded again, and did as he was told.

The Medicus turned to Agron and shoved him down to sit on a bench as well. He washed away the blood on Agron’s arm, and inspected it quickly. “A small scratch, take care to keep it clean though. It’s hard enough to keep you all alive without dealing with an infected wound.” Agron nodded at the man’s words, and the Medicus left the room.

“You fought well, little man,” the gladiator said.

Tiberius glared at him. “You were toying with me. I heard Batiatus. All you were doing was extending the entertainment for Egnatius, like all gladiators do.”

Agron raised an eyebrow. “Would you have rather me knocked you to the sands, without giving you a chance to defend yourself?” There was no mocking in his voice, only genuine sincerity.

He didn’t know how to answer Agron. He looked to the ground, and was silent for a moment. “No, I would not have rather you knocked me to the ground right away,” he quietly answered.

Agron laughed. “As I said, you fought well. You have a fire in you. I did not wish to see it extinguished, so I gave you the fighting chance you deserved.”

A smile slowly formed on his lips. “Gratitude for giving me the chance.”

The gladiator nodded his head. “What name do you go by little man?”

He smiled. “I’m called Tiberius.”

Agron raised his eyebrows again, green eyes scanning over him. “Tiberius? You are far too dark for such a fair Roman name.”

Tiberius shrugged his shoulders. He had not been called his true name since he had been captured by the Romans when he was a child. He wasn’t even sure he knew who Nasir was anymore, other than a fleeting memory. “I’m more Roman, than Syrian,” he replied simply.

The gladiator nodded, and opened his mouth once again, but before he could form words, a guard was at the door.

“I am to see you back to the villa,” the guard said. Nasir nodded, and stood up. Agron stood up as well, as Nasir followed the guard. He turned and watched Agron rejoin his brother on the sands, and just before they were out of sight, both men smiled at him. He returned it, before bowing his head and following the guard through the bowels of the ludus.

The guard unlocked the metal gate and ushered him through it, and up the stone steps. One of the house slaves pointed him back to the balcony, where Egnatius and Batiatus were lounging in the shade.

Egnatius turned slightly when he stood behind his master, before he turned back to Batiatus.

“It will be a glorious day,” Batiatus said to Egnatius. His master nodded in agreement.

“I pray that your men do not disappoint against Solonius’ men.”

He could see the anger on the lanistas face. “I can assure you my men will stand victorious against his inferior stock.” He saw a strange look on the lanistas face, before the man spoke again. “Let us have a friendly bet.”

Egnatius held out his cup, and Tiberius quickly picked up the jug of wine and refilled it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Batiatus’ firmly fixed on him.

“What would the conditions be,” Egnatius asked. The greed was unmistakable in his voice.

“Should my men fail to stand victorious in the games, I shall repay you the cost of the games.”

Egnatius threw his head back and laughed. “A fine bet. And if your men stand victorious in the arena, what shall you claim as your prize?”

He looked to the lanista, only to find the man’s eyes on him once again. He quickly averted his eyes to the floor.

“Your body slave, Tiberius.”

His eyes flicked to the lanista, who was wearing a smug smile, and then to Egnatius. He had long since learned every look his master had, and to the lanista he was wearing a mask of indifference, but in Egnatius’ eyes was a barely contained rage.

Egnatius turned to him, and he lowered his eyes to the floor once more. Not out of reverence, but out of fear.

“Why would you wish to claim him as your prize?” Egnatius demanded. “You already have a body slave, and his talents would be of no use to you.”

Batiatus laughed. “He has proven himself somewhat skilled with a sword. I would put him to use in the ludus.”

“You would train him as a gladiator?”

Batiatus scoffed. “No, but he would be useful in their training.”

Both men were silent for several moments, and he could feel the tension in the air. He himself doubted that Batiatus’ men would stand anything but victorious in the arena, something his master knew as well.

A quiet chuckle slipped from Egnatius’ lips. “A deal is struck.”

Tiberius’ eyes flicked from one man to the other, before looking out to the square. He was lost in his thoughts. He was to be a _prize_? He was a slave, but he was one of _status_. Not that it mattered to the Romans. Any slave could be replaced, as he had just been so cruelly reminded of.

Soon Egnatius stood, and took his leave of the lanista. Once they were beyond its walls, his dominus was cursing at everyone around him in his rage.

“If that fucking lanista thinks he will best me, he is sorely mistaken.” He turned to his guards, “Send word to Solonius, and tell him that should his men stand victorious against Batiatus men, he will be richly rewarded. I do not care how he does it, as long as Batiatus’ men fall.”

Two of the guards nodded, and left. Egnatius turned to him. “Batiatus is a fool, trying to outwit a man above his station. He will soon learn the error of his ways though.”

Tiberius nodded. “Dominus.” Egnatius laughed, and it rang in his ears. 


	2. Bets Won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research, and discovered that it was actually quite common for Roman gladiators to take stimulants (drugs) before games.

Capua was bustling, with many of its citizens making their way to the arena. The games were to begin shortly, but there were still matters to attend to. Tiberius stood not far from Egnatius, as he conversed with Solonius.

“I assure you Egnatius; my men will stand victorious over Batiatus’. I have spared no expense in the venture.”

“I would know what makes you certain of your men’s victory,” Egnatius demanded. Solonius smiled, and from his robes produced a small leather pouch and handed it to Egnatius. His opened it, and peered at its contents. “What is this?”

“The finest Rome could offer. Her gladiators often use it, to gain advantage against stronger opponents. I have seen it given to my strongest men, absent their knowledge of it. Batiatus’ men will not know what hit them.”

Tiberius grimaced as he listened to Solonius assure his master.  He had never favored the games, but he could see the honor in fighting in the arena. But that was when both men stood as equals, not outmatched, as Egnatius had done. He had no desire to watch Duro or Agron fall in the matches.

Agron more so. Tiberius could not explain his draw to the gladiator. He supposed that part of it was that Agron was the first person in his memory to ever treat him not as a slave, but as an equal. Ever since he’d left the ludus, he’d been unable to push the gladiator from his thoughts.

“Tiberius, come.” He quickly followed Egnatius and Solonius into the arena, up to the pulvinus. Batiatus and his wife were already there, sitting in the ornate chairs and talking to several of the nobles. He stood against the wall, as the lanista quickly greeted his master. A few words were exchanged between the men, before they took their seats.

The games soon began, and with the lanistas taking turns in announcing the gladiators who were to fight. Since this was the German brothers first time fighting on the sands, he knew they would fight before the midday sun.

He watched the first few matches, and in each one Batiatus’ men proved victorious. His fear did not lessen though. The way Batiatus’ men so easily overpowered Solonius’ was unsettling, it appeared as if the gladiators were not even attempting to defend themselves before their lives were cut short.

He glanced over to the lanista, and found a smug smile on his face.

Tiberius was more than a little confused. Why would Solonius put inferior men into the arena in the lesser matches, and allow Batiatus’ men to be victorious? He obviously had the means to assure all of his men victory.

The crowd roared with displeasure, as did Egnatius. “It seems as if your men are not up for these fights Solonius. When I last visited your ludus, you assured me they would give me a spectacle of blood.”

“And I assure you, they soon will,” Solonius replied smugly.

And it soon did, with the next pairing of gladiators. Solonius’ man was of a brutish form, and with the first swing of his blade, Tiberius knew that he had been given the contents of the pouch. Batiatus’ man could not gain any advantage, and with just a few swings of his blade, Batiatus’ man was disarmed. With a final blow from Solonius’ man, Batiatus’ man was struck from this life, his blood pooling on the sands below them.

Egnatius and Solonius laughed, as Batiatus’ face quickly fell.

“A fine showing of blood Solonius,” Egnatius told the lanista. “It will be a wonder if any of Batiatus’ men prove victorious, if the rest of your men are of an equal form.” His master gave a mocking smile to Batiatus, and he saw the rage in the lanistas face.

“The day is still young, and there are still most battles yet to be fought,” Batiatus smoothly replied, betraying none of the rage that etched his face. Tiberius smiled, as Egnatius held out his cup. He quickly moved to refill it, but realized to late the smile still upon his face, as was evident when Egnatius viciously glared at him.

He moved back next to the wall, and stood in silence. Two more pairings of gladiators followed, with Solonius’ men proving victorious over Batiatus’. With each one, his master and Solonius mocked Batiatus further.

The jug of wine in his hands was soon emptied, and Tiberius left the pulvinus to gather more wine from the hallway. He placed the empty jug on the bottom shelf, and picked up another. He turned around, and almost ran into Batiatus. The lanista took the jug from his hands, and blocked his way. “Your master and Solonius move against me,” Batiatus demanded.

He shook his head. “Apologies, I know naught what you speak of.” He moved to take the jug, but Batiatus kept a firm grip on it, and pressed him back into the corner. “My dominus will soon notice my absence,” he said, attempting to get around the lanista.

Batiatus laughed. “He would, if he still had any sense left. Your absence will not be noticed for a while.” He took a step back, and Tiberius remained silent, standing where he was. “Your eyes betray your lie. You know of what I speak of and it obviously burdens you. Share the weight, and see yourself richly rewarded.”

Tiberius’ mind was racing. Part of him wanted to tell Batiatus what Egnatius and Solonius had done, but fear kept him from telling the lanista. Egnatius was his master, and if he betrayed him, his master would not hesitate to kill him. Batiatus seemed to know what he was thinking, for he quickly spoke. “Should you choose to share this weight, I assure you, your master will not know.”

“Why should I take your word?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, but he strangely did not regret them.

Batiatus seemed surprised at him speaking out of turn, as a small chuckle escaped his lips. “You have no reason to, but if you do not tell me, I will be unable to aid Agron and his brother in the next match.”

All thoughts of telling Batiatus the truth left his mind, as thoughts of Agron filled them instead. “They are to fight together against Solonius’ men?”

Batiatus nodded. “They are.” A knowing look came into his eyes. “Does them fighting together concern you?”

Tiberius quickly shook his head. “No. I suppose it gives them a better chance to stand victorious though.”

Batiatus shook his head, “No, it will not. What will give them a better chance at victory is if you tell me what your master and Solonius have done.” Tiberius still hesitated; years of loyalty were not easily broken by a single man’s words. Batiatus advance towards him again, “Loyalty is a fine quality, one that I admire, but you should choose it carefully. You seem to forget that not days ago, Agron would have been commanded to kill you, if Egnatius had a man who possessed more skill than you, whatever they might be.”

Batiatus’ words struck him hard. Why was he loyal to Egnatius? His master had never treated him with anything but scorn and hatred. He had been treated somewhat better, when he had taken up the mantle of body slave to his dominus. Even then, what kept him loyal to Egnatius? His life under Egnatius flashed before his eyes, and the realization hit him. Fear. Fear of losing his favored position in the villa. Fear of being sold to the mines, as his dominus’ last body slave had been. Fear for his own life. The law did not protect him, and Egnatius had no qualms about killing disobedient slaves.

He met Batiatus’ eyes, and quietly asked, “He will not know?” Batiatus nodded his head in agreement. Tiberius took a breath to steady himself, and spoke quickly. “Dominus promised Solonius a large reward if his men proved victorious over yours in his games. He was furious that you maneuvered him. Before the games began, they met, and Solonius showed Dominus something he had acquired from Rome. I do not know what it was, as they never spoke the name of it, but Solonius told Dominus that Rome’s gladiators used it, to give themselves advantage against stronger opponents.”

He could see Batiatus’ mind working behind his eyes. “And the men at the beginning of the day? Why put weaker men into the arena?”

Tiberius shrugged his shoulders. “That I do not know. Perhaps to make your men overconfident in their skills?”

Batiatus nodded. “I believe I know what you speak of. It is a drug that is often frowned upon, only used by those desperate to win. But I know its weaknesses. In this heat and dust, it will soon turn to a disadvantage for my men. Thank you, for your loyalty Tiberius. It shall be rewarded.”

The lanista held out the jug of wine, and Tiberius took it with shaking hands. He watched as Batiatus took off towards the lower halls, and the man was soon out of sight. He had no time to think of what he had just done, as one of Batiatus’ slaves appeared from the pulvinus.

“Apologies, but your dominus grows impatient,” she said in a kind voice. He nodded, and quickly returned to the pulvinus. Egnatius held out his cup, and once more he filled it. He could not look Egnatius in the eye, as he feared if he did, his master would see his betrayal, even though he had wiped his face of all emotion.

“Where has good Batiatus gone? The next match is about to begin,” one of the nobles absently asked.

Solonius laughed. “Perhaps he cannot stand the sight of his men falling upon the sands.” The others in the pulvinus laughed as well, except for Batiatus’ wife.

Her voice was sharp as steel, as she spoke. “He will return shortly, he merely went to have words with his men.”

“Let him return soon then, as he must announce his men, before they meet there death against mine.”

Another laugh rang through the pulvinus, and he tightened his grip on the clay jug. He sent a prayer to the gods, begging that they would see Agron and his brother stand victorious, just so he might see the smug smile on his master’s face gone.

Batiatus returned a moment later, giving a small nod to him as he took his seat. “Apologies for the delay, Egnatius.”

Egnatius waved his hand. “Think nothing of it. Let us begin the next match.”

Batiatus stood up once more, and moved to the front of the pulvinus. He raised his hands, and the crowd quickly quieted. “People of Capua, I, Quintus Lentulus Batiatus, proudly present two of my finest acquisitions! Brothers from the savage lands East of the Rhine! Enter Agron! Murmillo!”

The crowd roared as Agron took to the sands, and continued as Duro took to the sands beside him. Agron was an intimidating sight on the sands, with steel in hand and impressive armor. Agron pulled off his helmet as he faced the pulvinus, and even from such a distance, he could still make out the green of the gladiators eyes. Agron grinned, and somehow he just knew, that grin was for _him_. He grinned back, grateful Egnatius eyes were on the men below.

Solonius stood as Batiatus sat down, and quickly announced his men. The crowd booed as they took to the sands, which Tiberius took as a good sign for Agron and Duro. Those favored by the crowd were often its victors.  

Egnatius stood, and gave the signal to begin. Agron quickly put his helmet back on, and threw himself at one of Solonius’ men. Duro did likewise with the other. Solonius’ men could not touch them, as the brothers pressed their advantage. Solonius’ men were quick to gain their bearings though, and soon began pressing their attack against the brothers.

Suddenly Agron threw himself at the larger of the men, trapping their swords between them. He expected Agron to throw the man to the ground, but he instead ripped the man’s helmet off, and threw it to the side. He took hold of his sword again, as he pushed the man away. Solonius’ man stumbled, throwing his hand up to block the light falling on his face. Agron took advantage of that distraction, his blade swung through the air, and the man’s scream filled the air, as his arm was cleaved from his body. With another well aimed strike, Agron cleaved the man’s head from his body. The crowd roared in delight at the man’s death.

Tiberius risked a glance at his master and was delighted to find his smug smile gone.

Agron quickly ran to help Duro, grabbing his opponent from behind, and trapping his arms against his chest. Duro ripped off his helmet as well, and he could see Solonius’ man squint at the sunlight, before turning his face away from it. Agron released him, and Duro ended the man’s life with a sword through the mouth. The crowds roar intensified, as the brothers removed their helmets and shouted with the crowd.

Agron turned to face the pulvinus once more, still grinning, as he raised his sword and pointed it at Tiberius.  Tiberius grinned at the gladiator once again, and for a moment, forgot where he was. He was lost in the moment, as he met those green eyes across the sands.

Little did he know, Egnatius had seen the look shared between them.

~~*~~

Egnatius threw him to the ground as they entered the villa. He instinctively tried to push himself back up, but was knocked back to the ground by his master. Egnatius grabbed the collar around his neck, pulling his head up and forcing him to meet his master’s gaze.

“How did Batiatus know?” Egnatius voiced dripped with venom and hatred. The grip on his collar tightened, cutting of his breath. “How!?”

Egnatius’ shouting drew his slaves to where they were. They stood silent and unmoving, fear evident in their eyes, as they watched Egnatius choke Tiberius. He could see Chadara at the front of them, tears brimming in her eyes.

Black dots were swimming in front of him, as he struggled to breathe. Egnatius released his grip on the collar around his neck, only to roughly grab his chin. “Answer me!”

Tiberius knew that if he spoke the truth, Egnatius would kill him, regardless of the agreement with Batiatus. “I do not know Dominus,” he quickly replied, hating how his voice shook.

Egnatius laughed cruelly, “You think your lies will spare you? Do you think my eyes blind, that I did not notice how he followed you from the pulvinus, before the German brothers took to the sands? You think I missed the looks between you and that savage, Agron?”

Egnatius released his hold on Tiberius chin, and stood. “Is that what drove you to betray me, Tiberius? You think he feels anything for you? You are _nothing_ , and will die the same.” Egnatius viciously kicked his side, and he cried out in pain, clutching his side.

“Dominus, please, I-,” but his words were cut off by another kick to his ribs.

“Do not fucking lie to me! I know you told Batiatus, his men used the same move every time to kill Solonius’. A weakness they were told to use, one that you alone could have told that fucking shit.”

He shook his head, “I told them nothing!” He saw Egnatius’ hand, and could do nothing as he was struck across the face. Blood dripped from his lips, onto the marble floor beneath him.

“More fucking lies, Tiberius?”

He wasn’t given a chance to answer, as he was struck across the face again and again. More blood dripped from his lips onto the floor with each blow. He refused to let any sound of pain leave his lips though, refusing to give Egnatius the satisfaction of it.

Egnatius grabbed his collar once again, forcing him to once again look into his masters eyes. “You hold tongue, and for what? You think you will fare better in Batiatus’ fucking ludus? Do you not know what will happen when you arrive?” A cruel smile took his face, and he pulled Tiberius closer, “Well do you?”

Fear instantly overtook Tiberius. Egnatius clearly knew something he did not, and anything that delighted his master so, was sure to have grievous consequences for him.

“No? Well, let me show you then.” He released Tiberius, leaving him on the floor. He kicked Tiberius again, as he moved behind him. Egnatius pushed his wrap up, leaving him vulnerable to his master. He begged to the gods, silently begged for Egnatius to stop, but his prayers went unanswered, as Egnatius forced himself upon Tiberius. A small cry left his throat at the intrusion, and he cursed himself for it.

With each thrust, his flesh burned horribly, and he prayed that Egnatius would soon finish. His face burned with humiliation and shame, as he looked at the floor. He couldn’t raise his eyes, couldn’t see his shame and humiliation reflected in all the eyes upon him.

Egnatius was breathing heavily, as he roughly grabbed Tiberius by his hair. “Here you had protection; at the ludus, you will have _none_.” With one final thrust, he finished inside of Tiberius, and slowly pulled out of him.

As Nasir lay on the floor, his entire body aching, his master’s voice rang out again, this time to the slaves in the room. “If you wish to avoid his fate, speak the truth when I demand it.”

He faintly heard Egnatius order his guards to deliver him to Batiatus, but before they reached him, a softer voice spoke. “Please, I would have a moment with him.”

Small arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His eyes slowly focused on Chadara as she held him tight against her chest. She gently brushed his hair from his face, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Listen to me Tiberius; you are strong, stronger than all of us. Do not listen to Dominus; you can survive in the ludus. I know you can.” Tiberius nodded his head, and he allowed Chadara to help him to his feet.

She quickly straightened his clothes, all while maintaining a surprisingly strong grip on him. When she finished, she pulled him into a hug, and whispered into his ear, “Cast off what he has branded you with Nasir.” He nodded, and buried his face against her neck, as a few stray tears escaped his eyes.

One of the guards cleared there throat, and he reluctantly pulled away from Chadara. She wiped the tears from his face, and gave him a small smile. Nasir returned it, before he was pulled away by the guards. As they left the villa, he glanced back at Chadara. She saw the fear in his eyes, and gave him a reassuring nod, before the doors closed.

 


	3. Rewarded Reaped

Tiberius was exhausted. Deprived of sleep and food on the day’s journey to Batiatus’ villa, it was a miracle he could even stand. The guards standing beside him were silent as they brought him before Batiatus. The lanista was in his office, his red-haired wife standing beside him. There laughter died as they took in Tiberius, who was covered in bruises and dried blood.

“What is this offense,” Batiatus demanded.

He glared at the guards, as one cleared his throat. “He chose to disobey our Dominus, before we left the villa to bring him here.”

Batiatus was fuming with anger. “ _I_ am his Dominus now. What right did Egnatius have to lay hand on one of _my_ slaves?”

The guard was quick to respond. “The _law_ gave him the right Batiatus. He was yet under our Dominus’ roof, and he does not allow his slaves to disobey him, not without escaping punishment.”

The lanista growled. “Leave him, and get out of my fucking sight.” The guards nodded to Batiatus, and left him alone with his new masters.

Batiatus’ wife spoke. “His men are as snakes upon their bellies, daring to raise voice against a man above their station. Egnatius gives them false confidence.” Her voice was as hard as steel, as it had been the first time he heard it. Tiberius stood silent, his eyes taking in the marble pattern on the floor, hoping he would soon be dismissed and allowed to rest.

“Tell me Tiberius, what is the true cause for all of this?” The lanista’s voice was strangely kind, something he had never heard, at least not directed at him.

Tiberius briefly raised his eyes to meet Batiatus’ as he answered. “He knew, and punished me for my betrayal.”

Batiatus groaned. “I can assure you he did not learn of it from me, but the questions begs answering of how he did come to learn of it.”

Nasir sighed. “It was your gladiators, who gave it away. They used the same move to kill Solonius’ men every time, and I was the only person who knew, beside Egnatius and Solonius, of what they had done.”

Batiatus stood up abruptly, and Nasir fought not to flinch as his new master came to stand before him. The events of the last night and day had made him forget his place, and he feared further punishment for his bold tongue. Batiatus did not strike him though, instead running his hand through his graying hair. “A problem I did not foresee. Apologies, Tiberius, for my mistake.”

Tiberius nodded his thanks, as the domina spoke to her husband, “A mistake that will have further consequences. You will need Egnatius’ support if you wish to gain any political office.”

“It is a mistake I will rectify eventually. The man gave me grievance; I won’t reward it with tongue in ass.” The domina laughed, as Batiatus spoke to him once again. “As I promised, you will be rewarded. Name anything, Tiberius, and see it granted.”

His reply was instantaneous. “I would see Agron again, Dominus.” After everything he’d done, all the abuse, all the pain, he could have asked for anything. But all he _wanted_ was to see Agron. To know all his efforts had not been for nothing.

Batiatus smiled. “And you soon shall.” Relief flooded Nasir, as his master turned to face his wife. “Have Naevia escort him to the Medicus, and seen to fresh clothing and rest.” He glanced back at Nasir, and added. “And see to the removal of that collar.”

At that the domina once again spoke. “You would remove his collar?”

“The man has proven himself loyal to this house. As I said, I would see it rewarded.” His words put an end to the discussion, as he sat back down behind his desk.

The young woman behind the domina stood forward, her body slave Tiberius assumed, her skin a shade lighter than his own. She gave him a warm smile, and led him from the lanista’s office. When they were out of sight, she paused for a moment, and slipped an arm around his waist. Her grip was surprisingly strong, as Chadara’s had been. He must have looked startled, for she quickly said, “Apologies, but I fear you unsteady on your feet.”

He nodded, and smiled in return. “Gratitude.” She carried most of his weight, as she brought him down the rough steps to the ludus below.

The metal screeched as the gate was unlocked, and she led him through it, and towards the square where he could hear the gladiators training. Tiberius was relieved that they stayed in the shade, his head was throbbing, and the bright sunlight did nothing to help it. He looked out at the square though, and saw Agron sparring with Duro once again. Agron must have felt his gaze, for he paused in his fighting and meet Nasir’s eyes. A look of horror overtook his face, and did not realize Duro had not taken note of his pause, as he watched Duro knock Agron onto his back.

Nasir grimaced when Agron’s back hit the sands, as Naevia led him through the doors to where the Medicus was. The man was in the corner, mixing herbs, and lazily looked up as they walked in. “What is this?”

“His name is Tiberius,” she told the Medicus, as she helped him past the first bench, where one of the gladiators was lying. She eased him down on the one beside the gladiator, as she looked back to the Medicus. “Dominus orders his wounds tended,” she said firmly.

The Medicus rolled his eyes as he stood, standing in front of Nasir. He took Nasir’s chin roughly in his hand, groaning slightly as his sensitive skin protested against the abuse. “Fill that bowl there with water, and wash the blood from his face.” Soon Naevia was sitting next to him, gently wiping the blood from his bruised face. The cool water brought a small relief to the pain, numbing it for a moment before it returned once again. Her hands were gentle, and patient, pausing whenever he grimaced in pain.

His vision was blurry, not focusing on anything in particular. It hurt his eyes, and worsened the throbbing in his head whenever he tried to do so. Closing his eyes helped somewhat. Naevia paused in washing the blood from him, and a moment later, sword-roughed hands cupped his face, though their touch was gentle. His eyes flew open, ready to pull away, but he stopped himself when he realized he recognized the green eyes that were fixed on him.

Agron.

Nasir smiled weakly, and leaned into the hands that held his face. Agron offered a smile in return, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Tiberius, what-” The gladiator took a breath, and only then did Nasir realize the hands that held his face were shaking slightly. “What happened?”

Nasir lowered his eyes, unable to meet the green ones so intently focused on him. “Punishment, from Egnatius.”

The anger in Agron’s voice was barely contained. “Punishment? For what?” Before Nasir could answer, the Medicus pushed Agron out of the way. Nasir immediately missed the comfort Agrons hands had given him, as the pain came rushing back to him.

The Medicus kneeled down to look at his face, his fingers pushing Tiberius’s bangs away to get a better look at a cut near his hairline. “It’s not too deep, but it will need stitches.” The Medicus grabbed something off one of the tables, and kneeled back down. Tiberius faintly took note of the bone needle in the Medicus’ fingers. “This will go faster, if you stay still.” Tiberius nodded, and he felt Naevia slip her arm around his waist again and take one of his hands in hers. The Medicus quickly pushed the needle through his skin, and a small groan escaped his lips.

His eyes trailed to Agron, who was standing beside the Medicus, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was glaring angrily at the man, and Nasir was surprised the man did not even notice. Then again, he was sure the Medicus never received anything but glares, and had long since grown accustomed to them.

His cut only required a few stitches thankfully, and then the Medicus turned his attention to the numerous bruises furthering darkening his chest. “Stand up.” He ordered. Tiberius forced himself to his feet, and the Medicus pressed his hand against his ribs. He groaned at the pressure, arching away from the Medicus’ hand.

Nasir didn’t notice, but Agron took a step forward, his face murderous.

The Medicus looked to Naevia. “Hold him still.”

Naevia moved, but placed herself between Tiberius and the Medicus. “For what purpose? Your touch obviously pains him; can you not determine what is wrong?”

The Medicus glared at her. “My _purpose_ , is to make sure his fucking ribs remain in one piece.” He couldn’t see but Naevia was glaring back at the man, before she nodded her head. She stood behind Tiberius, her hands lightly gripping his biceps.

Once again, the Medicus pressed his hands to the bruises on his chest. His first reaction was to once again arch away from the man’s hand, but Naevia held him in place, her grip tightening. She pulled him against her chest, offering a small measure of support. Nasir closed his eyes, hissing quietly.

The Medicus removed his hands a moment later, and he was on the verge of collapsing. Strong hands on his shoulders kept him up though, and eased him back onto the bench behind him. He didn’t need to open his eyes, to know it was Agron. He could feel the gladiator kneeling in front of him, as a stray hair was tucked behind his ear, and those rough hands took his own in hand.

The gladiator growled at the Medicus. “Well?”

“If his ribs were broken, he would be on the floor right now. Give it a fortnight or two, and the bruises should be gone.”

He could hear the Medicus shuffling things about, and a cup was forced into his hands. He wearily opened his eyes, and looked to Agron. The gladiator nodded, and Nasir brought the liquid to his lips. It was bitter tasting, and smelled disgusting. The cup was taken from his hands when he drained it, and his exhaustion seemed to double in the next few moments.

Strong arms gently pulled him to his feet, and pulled him into a tight embrace. He leaned gratefully into Agrons chest, as Naevia spoke up. “Wait a moment. Dominus orders his collar removed.”

Naevia must have moved to do so, as Agron spoke, his voice rumbling through his chest. “I will do it.” The gladiator’s hands swept the hair away from his neck, working at the tight knots that bound the leather collar around it. It took a few minutes, but he soon felt the collar loosen around his neck.

With a gentle tug, the collar was gone from around his neck. He shifted slightly, turning his head to see the worn leather collar that Agron now held in his hand. Nasir rubbed at where it had once been; it was strange, to be free of it. He had worn it for as long as he could remember. As a child, he had often been convinced it would choke him in his sleep. It was a long while, before he became accustomed to its weight, and he soon forgot that he wore it at all. Now, as he saw it in Agrons hand, he wondered how he could have ever forgotten that he’d worn it.

The gladiator dropped it to the floor, and wrapped his arms protectively around Nasir. He had not realized Naevia had left, until her voice rang from the doorway. “Doctore has had one of the free cells prepared for him.”

Agron nodded, unwrapping his arms from around Nasir, only to throw his arm around the Syrians shoulder. They followed Naevia through the corridors, to a cell not far from the square.

It was small, but not confining, with a barred window that let in a bit of sunlight. A few candles were burning in there holders hanging from the ceiling. But Nasir noticed none of this. All his attention was focused on the bedroll against the wall. He felt sleep calling him more and more, and Agron seemed to sense the Syrians exhaustion, as he gently tugged Nasir towards it. He all but fell to it, and Agron pulled the thin blanket over him.

A soft hand cupped his face, as Naevia demanded his attention for a moment. “I’ll bring you fresh clothes while you sleep, and you may change when you wake.” Nasir nodded gratefully, and she gave him a small smile, before leaving him and Agron alone.

The gladiator gently brushed the bangs away from his face, tucking them behind his ear, before they stubbornly fell again. A soft laugh escaped the gladiator’s lips, and Nasir stubbornly fought to stay awake, wanting to hear more of Agrons laugh. The German knew the Syrian was fighting sleep, and smiled. “Fighting it is foolish. Medicus put herbs that will make you sleep into that water. It is a wonder you are yet in the realm of the waking. Fall to that of dreams, and know that no one will ever place hands on you again.”

Nasir gave a small nod to the gladiator. “You are safe, Tiberius.”

“No.” His words were slurred; the herbs were calling him to sleep faster and faster. Agron’s face was confused, as he looked at the Syrian. “That’s the name I was branded with,” he explained.

Agrons face quickly softened. “What would you prefer to be called then?”

Nasir smiled, as a small memory floated in front of his eyes. A boy, slightly larger than he was, but sharing the same dark skin and hair. His brother. Laughter, as they ran, his brother calling out his name in a sing-song voice.

“Nasir,” he said, voice sleep heavy. “My brother called me Nasir.”

Agron smiled, and Nasir succumbed to sleep, as he heard a softly whispered, “Nasir.”

 


	4. Revelations

It’d been hours since Nasir had fallen to sleep, when he felt someone gently shake his shoulder. He sleepily opened his eyes, taking a moment to focus on who stood in front of him. Agron gave him a sheepish smile, one that reached his eyes. “Apologies, but dinner will soon be ready.” Nasir gave a small nod of his head, and slowly sat up with a small groan. His body was still sore and stiff, but the throbbing in his head had lessened at least. He made to stand up, but everything swam in from of him as he lost his balance.

Agron quickly caught him before he fell, easing him back down to the bedroll with a small chuckle. “Easy little man. Stay here and I’ll be back in a few moments with food.”

Nasir nodded as he rubbed at his forehead, trying to clear away the black dots that still swam in front of him. Agron was at the door, when he turned back to the Syrian. “Naevia left clothes for you, as she promised.” The gladiator pointed at the small pile at the foot of his bed. Nasir smiled gratefully, and Agron closed the door behind him as he left to gather food.

Nasir looked down at himself, and wrinkled his nose. The once white wrap was now dirty and torn, covered in flecks of crimson blood. He quickly undid it from around his waist, and threw it across the room, where it settled in the dirt. From the top of the pile, he took a pair of dark brown breeches. He was surprised to find that they were in relatively good condition as he pulled them on, and tightened the cord around his waist. A quick inspection of the rest of the pile proved to be the same. Two more pairs of breeches, as well as a wrap of cloth and vest. They showed no evidence of prior owners, and he wondered if these clothes were more rewards from Batiatus.

He’d only had a few glimpses of the ludus slaves, but he remembered their clothing had been torn and dirty, not even comparing to the ones he wore now. As he thought more of them, he realized that every single one of them wore a collar around there necks as well, save the Medicus.

The door creaked as Agron pushed it open, two bowls in hand, with a loaf of bread balanced on his arm. The Syrians stomach rumbled loudly, and Nasir gratefully accepted the one Agron offered him, taking a quick bite. The stew was thick and meaty, and he soon finished it off. The gladiator had ripped the bread in half, and handed the Syrian the larger of the two halves. He ate the bread slowly, his stomach no longer rumbling incessantly. They both ate in silence, but it was a comfortable silence. Nasir was too absorbed in watching Agron anyway, to formulate a proper thought.

This was the first time he’d been able to get a good look at Agron, and he greedily took in the gladiator’s features. Dark hair that was bound in dreadlocks. The dimples that formed whenever he smiled. The puckered scar over his heart. Tanned skin the light in the cell danced off of. Strong muscles, that were gentle whenever they embraced him. Green eyes deep in thought.

Agron soon finished his food, putting his bowl on the ground. His eyes focused on Nasir, and he knew the gladiator would soon demand answers to the burning questions in his eyes. He waited for Agron to ask them, not knowing himself how to bring it up.

The gladiator brushed the hair away from his face, his thumb trailing under the stitches on his brow. Those green eyes hardened as they focused on the healing cut. “Nasir, what happened?” The gladiator’s words were soft, but shaking slightly.

The Syrian let out a breath, and slowly answered. “When I returned to Egnatius, after we had sparred, he and Batiatus were forming a bet. Batiatus would reimburse Egnatius the cost of the games, if Solonius’ men stood victorious in the arena. If you and the rest of Batiatus’ men stood victorious in the games, _I_ would be his prize. Egnatius was furious that Batiatus had maneuvered him. He has always been one quick to anger, and made a deal with Solonius, telling him to make sure his men won, at whatever cost. The day of the games, Solonius revealed to Egnatius that he had imported some rare drug from Rome, and given it to his strongest men. He told my master that it would give them advantage over Batiatus’ men.”

At this a low growl escaped Agrons lips. “Dogs without honor.”

Nasir nodded in agreement. “Batiatus soon realized that something was wrong, when his men were so easily over powered. He cornered me when I left to gather more wine, promising reward if I told him what I knew. I did so, and he left, I assume to tell you and Duro.”

Agron nodded. “He was quite flustered when he arrived, cursing and kicking over an empty water barrel. He told us that Solonius was a coward, and had taken to desperate measures to see his men victorious. He told us that the bright sun was now there weakness, and to take advantage of it, or we would fall upon the sands.”

At this Nasir smiled, as he recalled their victory upon the sands, how Agron had pointed his sword at him, grinning from ear to ear. “A victory well earned, for both you and your brother.”

Agron smiled in return. “A victory we owe to you, as well as our lives.”

Nasir laughed, “You owe me nothing, I would not have seen you fall upon the sands.” Agron grinned from ear to ear, though it soon fell from his face, as Nasir continued his tale.

“Egnatius knew though. He knew-.” Nasir paused as the memory flashed before his eyes and the pain came rushing back. “He knew that I betrayed him, and he punished me for it. He tried forcing the truth from me, but I never revealed it.” He lowered his eyes, unable to meet Agrons, as he once again felt the shame and humiliation from what had happened to him.

Green eyes scanned over his injuries again, hardening at the sight of them once more. The anger in Agron’s voice was barely contained as he spoke. “That fucking shit. If I could get my hands on him, I’d teach him a lesson that he would remember even in the afterlife.”

Nasir quickly shook his head. “And you would soon follow him, if you did so.” His own eyes darkened, as he met Agrons eyes. “If _anyone_ gets to claim his life though, it is _me_. I will look into his eyes one day, and before I end his life, I will watch as he truly knows fear, what it is like to _live_ in fear.”

Agron gave him a solemn smile. “His life is yours to take, should you ever get the chance.”

“Come, to happier thoughts. You are away from that shit eating Roman, and you still have yet to meet my brother.” Agron stood, and offered his forearm to Nasir. He gripped it tightly, and the gladiator easily pulled him to his feet, placing his hands on the Syrians shoulders to steady him for a moment. The black dots swam in front of his eyes again, but they disappeared after a few seconds. He gave a nod to Agron, who released his grip on Nasir to scoop up there empty bowls from the floor.  

He led Nasir from his cell, out to the eating area. Quite a few of the gladiators were still eating, laughing and quietly talking amongst themselves after a long day of training. They quieted somewhat, as they saw Nasir. He ignored their stares, which was easy considering his own eyes were focused on the gladiator next to him. Agron deposited the bowls on the table in front of the cook, and started to lead Nasir past all the gladiators.

Doctore stepped in front of them though, barring the way. He stood with his hands behind his back, his whip attached to his belt. “You are the new ludus slave?” he asked Nasir, though he assumed it wasn’t really a question.

The Syrian nodded though, “Nasir, sir.”

The man stepped forward; he could feel his dark eyes scanning over his injuries as well. “Batiatus has told me of what you revealed to him. Gratitude, for your loyalty. It will not soon be forgotten. Take the next few days to rest, and see your body restored.” Doctore gave him a faint smile as he finished, and Nasir smiled in return.

“Gratitude, Doctore.”

Doctore walked away, and Agron threw his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, “You have already earned the respect of Doctore. A marvelous feat, since even Spartacus has not done so.” Nasir grinned, and felt the heat rise in his face. Agron gave him a gentle tug as he pulled Nasir to where his brother sat at the farthest table, conversing with a few of the gladiators.

The other men scowled slightly at the intrusion, but Agron ignored them. “Apologies, but I require words with my brother.”

They grumbled as they stood up, and took their leave. Duro stood up, giving his brother a nod, before his eyes turned to Nasir. He held out his forearm, and Nasir grasped it in return. “We have yet to have proper introduction. I am Duro, from the lands East of the Rhine,” the German said warmly.

The brothers were quite alike in there looks. Duro shared the same dark hair in dreadlocks, and tanned skin. He had slightly less muscle than his older brother though, and his eyes were brown instead of green. He had a carefree look about him though, an innocence that the rest of the gladiators lacked.

“It is long overdue,” Nasir replied just as warmly. “I’m called Nasir.”

Duro looked somewhat confused. “Nasir? I recall hearing a different name when you first came to this fucking house.”

He could feel Agron tense slightly beside him, but the smile on the Syrians face did not waver. “That was the name Egnatius branded me with. Nasir is what my brother called me.” Duro nodded his head in understanding.

He could see the burning question in Duro’s eyes, as to why he was in such a state, but was grateful the man did not voice them. He had no desire to repeat the tale; he only desired to forget it had ever happened.

They sat against the stone walls of the ludus, Nasir absently watching as the gladiators grouped together at the edge of the stone floor. He could hear the rattle of dice, as they began to gamble with their winnings recently earned in the arena. The brothers talked happily, of the days training, and wondering aloud if they would fight in the games soon to come. The occasional insult was traded between them, before being laughed off. It was easy to see the love between them, as well as the protectiveness in Agrons eyes, whenever they fell upon on his brother.

The Syrian was content with listening to their conversation, occasionally offering a comment or two. His exhaustion was creeping back up on him again, but he was ever stubborn, fighting sleep and willing himself to stay awake.

It _was_ difficult though, with Agrons arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. His skin pleasantly warm, breathing deep and even. The gladiators hand gently massaging his hip, soothing the sore muscles. His fingers occasionally traveled up over the bruises on his sides, gently brushing against them, before they fell back to his hip.

Duro stood up, making his way over to gather drink. Agron leaned down slightly, and whispered into his ear. “You are stubborn, aren’t you? Fighting sleep once again?”

Nasir looked up to meet his eyes, smirking. “I know naught of what you speak.”

Agron chuckled, and shook his head. “Fall to sleep. I will carry you back to your cell tonight.”

Nasir shook his head. “I would stay awake a while longer.” A yawn escaped his lips, betraying his exhaustion, and Agron laughed again, pressing his lips to his hair. His heart skipped a beat as his face flooded with heat. Duro returned with three cups, handing one each to Agron and Nasir. The Syrian took a sip of the wine, while Agron and Duro both downed there’s in one swig.

They both continued their conversation, words foreign in origin occasionally passing their lips now. The words had a sort of roughness to them, but he was fascinated nonetheless. He remembered little of his native tongue, as he had not spoken it since he was a child. Egnatius had dealt out severe punishment whenever he caught a slave speaking in any language than that of Rome. Just as he’d been forced to give up his name, he’d given up his native language, and had become Tiberius so that he could _survive_.

He’d reclaimed his name though. One day, he thought, he might reclaim his native tongue as well.

Another rough word passed Agrons lips, and he looked up at the German. He noticed and quickly translated what had been said between them. “Apologies,” Duro began, “but our native tongue is the only remnants we have of our homeland, besides each other. We can stop if it bothers you.”

Nasir quickly shook his head. “None required. I enjoy listening to it, and would never dream of preventing you from speaking your own tongue.”

Duro grinned. “Gratitude. Few here offer such generosity. The fucking Gaul’s bitch like women whenever they hear it.” The Germans eyes traveled to the men gambling not far from them, and the Syrian assumed they were the ones he spoke off.

“Let them bitch. It is a sign they have given themselves over to slavery, and submitted to the will of their dominus,” Nasir told Duro, ignoring the irony. The brothers laughed loudly, and Agron’s arm tightened around him briefly, quickly loosening before it caused pain.

“And what of you?” Duro asked when they stopped laughing. “Do you still speak your native tongue?”

Nasir gave a small shrug of his shoulders, and took a sip of the wine. “I was forced to abandon it under Egnatius’ roof, and it has been many years since I last spoke it. Some of words remain with me though, but to my knowledge, no one in the ludus speaks it.”

Agron shook his head. “There is one, Ashur, but I would advise you to stay away from him. Treacherous fuck if ever there breathed.”

“Almost as ambitious as Batiatus, but he knows nothing of loyalty, nor of the Brotherhood,” Duro added. “You’ll see the cripple soon enough, and see of what we speak.”

Nasir nodded. “I will make it a point to avoid him.”

Agron and Duro smiled, before picking up their previous conversation. In a short time, he was able to pick up a few words that the Germans spoke, mainly _bruder_ , which was so close to brother, he assumed it could mean nothing else.

He soon found himself nodding off, his head resting against Agrons broad chest. He could hear the gladiator’s heart steadily beating, and it slowly lulled him to sleep.

He jolted awake several times, with Agron and Duro chuckling every time he did so. Agron would tell him to sleep, and Duro would nod in agreement, but he still tried to stay awake. As the night grew late though and the moon rose higher in the night sky, he soon lost all willpower to do so.

He could faintly feel himself being picked up, and his eyes flickered open to see Agron above him. He wrapped his arms around the Germans neck, refusing to let go. Agron laughed and kissed his forehead. “You _need_ sleep.”

Nasir held tight, and murmured, “You like repeating yourself, don’t you?”

He heard another laugh, one different from Agrons. Nasir’s eyes travelled to Duro, who was standing beside them. Duro laughed again. “You’ll get used to it before long, and learn to ignore it as I have.” Nasir laughed, as Agron glared half-heartedly at his brother. Duro clapped his brother on the shoulder, and nodded to Nasir. “Take advantage of sleep now; once we all wake in the morning, we gladiators are anything but quiet.”

Duro started into the ludus, before looking over his shoulder and calling out, “Be quiet when you come back to our cell brother.” He glanced at Nasir, and quickly added, “That is, if you even make it back.”

Held firmly in Agrons arms, he could feel the gladiator’s skin heat up against his, and a small growl rumbled through his chest. Duro winked at the both of them, before laughing loudly as he continued his way into the ludus.

“Idiot, forgetting I can kick his ass into the sands tomorrow.”

Nasir smiled, “He’s teasing, which you very well know.”

Agron shrugged his shoulders, and followed Duro into the ludus. “Yes, but he needs to learn to hold his tongue. It’s forever getting him into trouble.”

It was a short trip to Nasir’s cell, the door still ajar from when they had left a few hours before, the candles giving off a faint glow. A little moonlight fell through the barred window now, a splash of white on the floor.

Agron gently set him down on his bedroll, but Nasir did not loosen his hold around the gladiator. He further tightened his grip on Agron, quietly murmuring, “Fall to sleep beside me.”

The gladiator smiled and softly said, “Give me a moment.”

Nasir reluctantly released his hold on Agron, and watched with sleepy eyes as he quickly undid his sandals, tossing them into the same corner where his old wrap still lay. With a small kick, he shut the door, giving them privacy from the gladiators still roaming the halls of the ludus.

Agron lay down next to him, pulling the blanket over the two of them. He wrapped his arms once more around Nasir, who snuggled closer to the gladiator. The German gently took Nasirs chin in hand, lifting his face slightly. He met the green eyes above him, and was utterly and completely dumfounded, when Agron softly pressed his lips to his own.

The taste was sweet first, like the wine they had been drinking not long before. Then he tasted something he could not describe, except as purely _Agron_. And how he savored it, _treasured_ it.

Agron was the first to pull away from it, and Nasir tried to chase those lips, wanting more. Agron chuckled quietly, rubbing his thumb along the Syrians jaw. He impatiently waited for another kiss and was granted one, this time though, to the stitches on his brow. He closed his eyes at the gentle touch, inhaling the gladiators scent. The gladiator didn’t stop with that kiss, softly pressing his lips again to each bruise that darkened the skin on his face.

With every press of Agrons lips, he relaxed further in the gladiators arm. The small throbbing from the bruises was something he had pushed to the back of his mind hours ago, but now it disappeared under Agrons gentle touch. Only once he had finished, did he again press his lips to Nasirs.

“Sleep,” the gladiator whispered, pulling Nasir closer to his chest, until there was no space between the two of them. Tucked into the crook of the gladiators shoulder, Nasir could once again hear the beating of Agrons heart. He closed his eyes, while the steady beating once again lulled him to sleep. 


	5. Fucking Syrian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashur attempts to gain favor with Nasir  
> **conversations in italics means they are speaking in Arabic

Duro was right. The gladiators were _anything_ but quiet once they were awoken for the days training. All of them stomping through the hallways, there groaning and grumbling about being awoken before the sun had risen echoing off the stone walls. Duro had all the subtly of a bull when he woke the two of them; kicking open the door and letting it slam against the wall with a devious smile. Nasir and Agron groaned out in unison, with Agron letting out a string of curses in German.

Duro rolled his eyes, ignoring his brother. “Get your ass out of bed Agron, before Doctore drags you from it.” He leaned against the doorway, as Agron untangled himself from the tight grip Nasir had on him. Nasir sat up as Agron stood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawned, and had half a mind to fall back to sleep, since he was not yet expected to help in the men’s training.

Agron yawned as well. “I would tell you to return to sleep, but you will miss breakfast if you do so.” Nasir nodded in agreement, stretching his muscles as he stood. He was relieved to find that they were slowly loosening from the abuse he had suffered three days prior. Agron held out his forearm, and Nasir grasped it, as Agron quickly pulled him to his feet. He yawned again, as Agron grabbed his sandals from the corner and quickly laced them on.

“You slept well,” Duro casually asked him, but his grin implied more.

Nasir decided to have a bit of fun with him, since he had been as ass when waking them, and in the process teach him a lesson. “Very well, for what little I got.” He glanced at Agron, hoping he would catch onto the game. The gladiators face was puzzled for only the briefest of seconds, before he caught on. He grinned at Nasir, and casually stated, “I can’t believe you can even stand.”

Nasir smiled. “I’m surprised _you_ can stand, with the ravishing _I_ gave you last night.” Duro’s face was priceless, his eyes darting back and forth between him and Agron.

He momentarily feared he might have gone too far, but the gladiator only grinned wider. “By far the best I’ve ever had.” Duro’s face went from one of surprise, to outright shock. It took everything Nasir had to not burst out laughing at his face.

He looked back to Agron, who was only smirking at the Syrian, before turning his eyes to his brother. “You should mind your own business, _bruder_. You make this to easy.” Having realized he’d been duped, Duro growled in response, as he turned and made his way towards the square.

Nasir grinned as he met the green eyes focused on him, and they both burst into laughter. The Syrian was doubled over in laughter, collapsing onto the bedroll. He’d never laughed so hard in his life. Agron’s booming laugh rang through the cell as he sat down beside him, wrapping his arm around the Syrians slim waist.

“A jest well played.” The gladiator slyly commented, before claiming the Syrians lips in a chaste kiss. Nasir’s smile prevented him from deepening the kiss, as did the small laugh that escaped his lips.

“A lesson in holding his tongue,” he replied, raising his eyebrows at his gladiator. Agron’s eyes widened for a moment before he laughed as well.

“I suppose your lesson was better than what I had in store for him on the sands.”

Nasir smiled, and his stomach rumbled loudly. He quickly stood, and this time offered his forearm to Agron. The gladiator quickly took hold of it, and with surprisingly little effort, he pulled the gladiator to his feet. He pulled Agron from the cell, and to the eating area, where the rest of the gladiators were. About half were in line in front of the cook, while the rest lazily roamed about eating the porridge. Duro was sitting with Hamilcar, shooting the pair of them a glare as they went to the back of the line.

“He did not find our jest amusing,” Nasir told Agron, a smile twitching at his lips as he picked up a bowl.

Agron laughed and shook his head. “It’s a sour bite to swallow, when one’s wit is turned against them. He is not one to hold a grudge though, only pouting until one can get him to crack a smile again.”

The Syrian grinned as he looked over a Duro. He received yet another glare, which he merely rolled his eyes at. “It will be an easy thing, to get him to smile again.” Agron nodded in agreement as he too looked back to his brother, and received a glare as well.

They received there breakfast from the cook, and sat down across from Duro. He made a pointed attempt to ignore them, but they were soon able to goad him into light conversation. By the time the meal was finished, he was once again smiling at them, forgiving them for their jest. Nasir was surprised he’d even been able to hold out to the end of the meal, since from what he could see, Agron was playing at every one of Duro’s weaknesses, using them to get his brother to forgive the two of them.

Doctore cracked his whip, and the gladiators grumbled some more, as they began to prepare for the days training. Many disappeared into the ludus, before returning with armor that mimicked that which they wore in the arena. Nasir waited as the brothers went to their cell to retrieve theirs, and Agron was no less impressive in the light armor. He received twin grins from the brothers, as they gathered practice swords and shields from the corner.

With another crack of Doctore’s whip, the men began to spar with one another. He watched for a moment, as Agron and Duro fought together, there grins still on their faces. He could just catch the occasional German being said between them over the clash of wood. He yawned again, as he watched Doctore instruct the men. He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly to himself, as the insults Doctore delivered seemed to goad the men to better listen to him, than the actual instruction.

“You are summoned.” Nasir jumped slightly at the sudden voice behind him. He turned, and found one of the guards waiting for him. The Syrian nodded as he stood, following the guard into the ludus and up into the villa. He was slightly nervous about what Batiatus wanted, as it had only been the day before when he had seen his new dominus. He had little time to wonder though, as he was quickly led to Batiatus’ office once more.

With a wave of his hand, the guard was dismissed. Nasir silently waited for the lanista to speak, his eyes briefly meeting Batiatus’. “Your wounds are mending.” He simply observed.

“They are dominus.”

“How long until they are healed,” Batiatus asked.

“Medicus says they should all be healed in a fortnight or two.”

The lanista nodded, his eyes trailing over Nasir as they had the day before. “I trust you find your rewards sufficient?”

Nasir nodded. “They are dominus, and much appreciated.”

Batiatus nodded. “I have planned to make announcement, to let all of my gladiators know of what you have done for this house.” Nasir’s eyes briefly met Batiatus’ again, as he thought of the consequences. He had no desire for the rest of the gladiators to know what he had done. He feared they would see him as nothing more than a traitor, one seeking favor.

“You have objection?” Batiatus had noticed his hesitance.

“I do. I would rather they not know it was me who revealed what Solonius and Egnatius had done.”

“Why do you shy away from what glory is rightfully yours?”

Nasir shook his head. “It is not mine to claim. Men should die with honor, not outmatched by men with none. The glory belongs to your men alone Dominus.”

Batiatus looked at him thoughtfully, as another voice spoke out. “Modesty. A trait quite rare. The glory of course belongs to him.”

Nasir looked sharply at the one who had spoken, as he limped through the door to stand beside Batiatus. His skin was dark, slightly lighter than his own, but his hair the same inky black as his. The mark of Batiatus was upon his forearm, but he was dressed in clothes quite different from the gladiators training below. His eyes fell to the brace that encased his right leg, and Nasir instantly realized who this was.

Ashur.

“ _It does not_ ,” Nasir hissed. “The glory belongs to the men who fought upon the sands, and stood _victorious_.”

 Ashur chuckled, as Batiatus looked between the two of them. The lanista opened his mouth but Nasir was quicker though, speaking before Batiatus could. “Doctore already knows of what I have done, _that_ is enough for me.” Batiatus narrowed his eyes at him, before chuckling himself.

“Very well, then.” Batiatus snapped his fingers, and the guard reappeared.

Nasir bowed his head slightly. “Dominus,” then followed the guard back to the ludus below. As the gate was locked behind him he realized Ashur had followed them as well. He ignored the other Syrian, making his way towards the training square.

“ _You are Syrian, are you not brother?”_ Nasir paused, startled at hearing Ashur speak to him in his native tongue. He looked over his shoulder at the man, who had a smirk on his face, as he waited for Nasir’s reply.

He racked his brain for a few moments, pulling words he had long thought forgotten from the deepest parts of it. “ _I am.”_ The words were slightly broken as he spoke them, but he pushed that to the back of his mind.

Ashur took a step forward, and Nasir turned to face him. “ _It is a comfort, to once again find one who shares our tongue in the ludus. It has been years since I last had the good fortune.”_

 _“And what became of him?”_ Nasir coldly asked.

Ashur’s smirk wavered for a second, before his lips curled over his teeth in a laugh. “ _He fell upon the sands, in the opening of the arena.”_ Nasir could easily see there was more that the Syrian was not revealing, but he had never been one for games, and had no desire to play one with Ashur.

“ _I tire of this game, speak of what you seek.”_ Nasir took great pleasure in how the smirk fell from Ashur’s face, and he shifted slightly.

“ _I seek nothing; I only wished to speak to a brother.”_

Nasir hated the way the word rolled off the other Syrians tongue. It dripped from it with mockery and scorn. _“You have yet to prove yourself worthy of the title ‘brother’.”_

Ashur grimaced slightly, taking another step towards Nasir. “ _I shall soon enough. You have already gained much favor with Batiatus. Work with me, and see it rise to the heavens.”_

Duro’s words rang through his head, ‘almost as ambitious as Batiatus, but he knows nothing of loyalty, nor of the Brotherhood’ _._ Everything suddenly fit into place, and he stepped forward until he was in the Syrians face.

“ _Listen to me, for I will only say this once. Seek another if you wish to find fucking favor in this house. I neither seek it or desire it.”_

Ashur glared at him, and it infuriated Nasir when another the man smirked once more. “ _Very well, brother.”_

He limped off past Nasir, who glared at his back until he was out of sight. “Treacherous snake.”

He growled quietly to himself, as he continued on his way to the square. He leaned against one of the pillars with his arms crossed, but barely noticed the men training. That Ashur wanted to use him to gain position was _infuriating_. The Gods knew how much he had been used his entire life, and fuck if he was ever going to be used again. For years Egnatius had put his skills to use in gaining favor among the elite, and he had _hated_ it. He’d bent to the will of Egnatius, but the gods be damned if he’d _ever_ bend to the will of Ashur.

His thoughts were so darkened, he did not realize Agron was standing before him until his rough hand lifted his chin. “What did Batiatus want?” There was concern in those green eyes, and Nasir gave him a small smile.

“He wished to see how my wounds were healing.” He simply told the gladiator. He didn’t wish to distract Agron from his training, and would tell him the full story once night had fallen. Agron nodded, and Nasir knew he wasn’t hiding anything from him. Nasir playfully shoved Agrons shoulder, nodding towards Duro. “Go and return to training, before Doctore grows angry.”

Agron nodded, and did as Nasir said, rejoining his brother in training. Spartacus soon joined them as well, the two brothers now attacking as one against the Champion. Nasir stayed where he was, lounging against the pillar. The sun was rising starting to rise higher, but there were still several hours before the men would break for the midday meal.

Although grateful to Batiatus and Doctore for giving him a few days to rest, he still found it a strange thing to be idle. All he’d ever known was the hustle and bustle of being a slave. As soon as one task was complete, there was always another to be attended to, from the moment he was awoken until he was allowed to fall to sleep. He’d been the smarter of the slaves of his former master, always finding something else to do once his tasks were complete, putting himself above all the others in the villa. He attributed that to being appointed the coveted position of Egnatius’ body slave, at such a young age.

And the jealousy and hate he’d endured when he’d been given the favored position in the villa. Chadara had been the only one proud of him though Nasir suspected that was only because she was the favored cunt within the villa, which gave her position within its walls. They’d had different reasons for obtaining it: Chadara sought favor for position alone; Tiberius had done it for survival, and with the knowledge that being Egnatius’ body slave would free him of humiliation at the man’s frequent extravaganzas.

With a pang of guilt, he realized he hadn’t really thought of Chadara since coming to the ludus. She had been his only friend for many years; they’d both been brought to Egnatius’ villa as children and had grown up together. She was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he missed her company. He wondered how she was faring without him, if she had suffered punishment for helping him. He knew there was a fair chance he’d never see her again, and it was something that he would have to accept. It was one that every slave had to accept. Their lives were at the whims of their masters, and it was inevitable that eventually friends and family would be sold away.

Doctore’s whip cracked through the air, and Nasir tore himself from his thoughts and looked at the former gladiator. “Rest. Eat. We resume once midday sun has passed.”

The gladiators dropped their practice swords next to the ludus walls, undoing there light armor and leaving it beside their weapons. He walked to meet Agron and Duro, who were groaning slightly from the training. Both men were covered in sand and dust; the raw brands on their forearms a bright fiery red.

“Little man, did you enjoy watching the training?” Duro asked with a cheeky grin.

Nasir rolled his eyes at the nickname. “I see the morning’s lesson has already been lost on you.” Agron snorted, throwing his arm over Nasir’s shoulders.

“Continue this once we’ve gathered food. I’m hungry enough to eat my own hand.” Nasir laughed, and they joined the other gladiators in line waiting to receive food from the cook. Once they had, they took their seats at one of the tables. All three of them took a hungry bite of the stew, before falling into easy conversation.

The brothers explained the different styles of fighting and which of the men trained in said style. Nasir was able to put several names to faces, as their reputations preceded them, namely Spartacus, Crixus, and a lesser known gladiator called Varro. Crixus sulked among the men, bandages wrapped across his chest, still recovering from the legendary fight against Theokoles.

One of the larger gladiators lumbered over, sitting across from Nasir next to Duro with a loud grunt.

“Fucking Gaul’s.” He grumbled, taking a bite of bread.  Nasir recognized the gladiator as one he had seen wielding a large wooden ax during the mornings training. One of the Germans the brothers had pointed out. Donar, if he recalled correctly.

“What have they done?” Agron asked.

“The lot are _still_ fucking complaining about Spartacus kicking Crixus’ ass in demonstration.”

The brothers rolled their eyes, cursing quietly. “Fucking Gaul’s. They bitch about every matter involving those two,” Duro grumbled.

“The Gaul’s refuse to accept him as Champion, despite defeated Theokoles. As if any of them would have lasted more than a second against the Shadow of Death.” The gladiator told him.

“They will eventually. Crixus will never reclaim his title from Spartacus,” Agron simply said.

Donar laughed. “Not unless he takes it from Spartacus. It was over a year before your arrival, but Crixus defeated him in the arena, in the fucking primus.”

“How does he still grace this world then?” Nasir asked. The gladiator turned his eyes to the Syrian as he continued. “The primus is always a fight to the death, is it not?

Donar nodded. “That is the custom. Spartacus gave the _missio_ though, a plea for mercy. Batiatus granted him life, and he was forced to fight in the Underworld to reclaim his place amongst us.”

“I’ve never seen life granted in the primus before,” Nasir commented, idly tearing off a chunk of bread, before eating it.

“You have attended the games before?” Donar asked, surprise evident in his tone.

The Syrian nodded as he chewed. “In Damascus, with my previous dominus.”

Donar laughed. “No wonder you have never seen life granted. The men in Damascus are of poor quality. They occasionally fight in the arena here in Capua, in the early skirmishes. Without fail, they fall upon the sands.”

The Syrian agreed. “The games were never entertaining, to the unending frustration of those in attendance.”

“You will see how true gladiators fight, at the next games. From the looks of it, you will take orders directly from Doctore, as Pietros once did. He occasionally accompanied us to the games, preparing our weapons for us. I assume you will as well.”

The Syrian nodded; refraining from saying he had already attended them. Saying he had would no doubt lead to questions he did not wish to answer. Agron and Duro refrained from mentioning it as well, which he was eternally grateful for.

Doctore cracked his whip again, signaling the beginning of the afternoon training. The gladiators groaned out in unison as they stood, dropping their bowls in front of the cook, and taking their practice weapons up again.

Nasir leaned against the rough stone wall as Agron and Duro strapped there light armor back on, idly tossing Agron’s sword in his hand. It was somewhat lighter than the swords they used in the arena, but not by much. He’d have been lying to himself, if he said he’d had no interest in once again picking up a sword and sparring with Agron. He would never best the gladiator, that much he knew, but he loved the _challenge_ in the idea. 

Agron grinned at him, wrapping a calloused hand over the Syrians. He leaned down slightly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. The gladiator tasted slightly of sweat and more so of sand. It wasn’t exactly a _pleasant_ taste, but then again he hardly cared. The gladiator pulled away slightly, Nasir swore that Agron’s grins were contagious as one broke out on his face. They laughed together, completely oblivious to the very awkward Duro next to them.

Doctore cracked his whip once more, and Nasir reluctantly relinquished Agron’s sword to him. Agron gave him one more grin, and Nasir knew those dimples would be the death of him one day. The gladiator pressed another kiss to his temple, before returning to training.

Nasir sat on the stone floor of the ludus, leaning against one of the pillars, and simply watched the gladiators train for the next few hours. He was able to learn most of the men’s names by watching them, and was soon able to pick out the several styles Agron and Duro had described to him. Doctore walked among them, barking out instructions occasionally.

The sky slowly began to darken, and he looked up lazily. Clouds were slowly beginning to cover the sky, blocking out the sun. He was grateful for it, as he was unused to spending so much time out in the heat and unrelenting sun. The prospect of it raining was still a thought that brought a smile to his face. The drought had affected his former villa, and the slaves were the ones who had suffered the most during it. Scant water rations, and baths became rare, even for him. Egnatius had been far from light of coin, but the price to import water from Rome was incredibly high so he hoarded it for himself, letting his slaves suffer.

There relief when Spartacus had ended the drought could not even be described. He’d been stuck to Egnatius’ side, but many of the others had found excuses to step into the pools of water, letting the pouring rain wash over their bodies. It was one of the few times he envied them.

The excitement was still there, as the sun was soon blocked out. He looked out over the cliff, listening to the faint thunder echoing off the surrounding rock, and lightening flashed through the clouds. The storm was still several miles away, and from the looks of it would reach them sometime during the night.

Doctore cracked his whip one last time, signaling for dinner. The men tossed there practice weapons into a corner, while the ludus slaves gathered them and stored them in several chests. It was a quick affair, with both of the brothers completely exhausted from the days training.  There baths were likewise, Nasir was clean in no time, while the brothers took slightly longer in washing the sand and dust from them.

Nasir returned to his cell, donning his breeches once again, before returning to the cell Agron and Duro shared. Duro left when he arrived, saying something about joining the men who were gambling with their winnings. Nasir nodded as he left, sitting down beside Agron on the wooden platform that served as his bed.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened between you and Batiatus?” Agron quietly asked, wrapping his arm around the Syrians waist.

“What happened between Batiatus and I is not what concerns me. _Ashur_ is the one who concerns me,” he answered just as quietly, watching as Agrons face darkened.

“What has that fucking Syrian done?” The gladiator demanded, before his face softened quickly. “Apologies-“

Nasir quickly shook his head. “None required. The fucking Syrian wishes to use _me_ to gain position for _himself_. He envies that which I have gained with Batiatus. I refused to be part of such a thing, and told him so. He was not pleased to say the least.”

Agron growled threateningly. “That _snake_. He did this in front of Batiatus?”

Nasir nodded his head.  “He insisted I take the ‘glory’ that he and Batiatus believed was mine. I would have rung his neck then and there if I could have.”

The gladiator growled again. “The balls that man has, trying to maneuver Batiatus himself. Cast the shit from your thoughts, he is a fool if he thinks you are of the same breed as he is.”

Nasir smiled. “Consider it done.” He ignored the feeling in the pit of his stomach that this wouldn’t be the last time Ashur attempted to use him for position. Agron didn’t return his smile though; his eyes were focused on the wall across from them. Nasir could just hear the curses being muttered under the Germans breath. He playfully tugged on one of Agrons dreadlocks, forcing the man’s attention back to him. “Heed your own advice, and cast him from your thoughts as well,” the Syrian advised with a smirk.

Agron rolled his eyes, before smirking back at the Syrian. “It is a shame the man cannot return to training, he would be dead before the sun sets tomorrow.”

“From your hands alone?”

“I’m sure the rest of the men would lend aid in the task. We may not all share love for each other, but we all shared hatred for Ashur.”

This time Nasir rolled his eyes. “I may not have been here long, but I fear if any of you sent him to the afterlife, Batiatus would not be pleased and deliver punishment to the one who dealt it.”

“Ashur is but a slave, as we all are.” Nasir could hear the bitterness in Agrons voice, one that spoke of longing for the freedom he once had. “Our lives are worth nothing to the Romans, they only mourn the loss of coin.”

It was the bitter truth, one that Nasir had long ignored in his servitude to Egnatius. As a child he’d been completely ignorant of the fact, awarded out of the small amount of innocence he was still allowed in slavery. Once he’d grown older though, and was trusted enough to accompany the others to the market, that he’d quickly realized the harsh reality. The others had advised him to push it to the back of his mind, lest it consume him. He’d been told there was no coming back, if one did so.

“Push it from your thoughts; dwelling on it will drive you mad,” he told the gladiator.

Agron snorted. “Maybe in other villas, but not here. As gladiators, we are rewarded with coin for our victories. Those who realize the Romans weakness for it save there’s, intending to one day purchase the freedom stolen from them.”

“And Duro? Does he not realize this as well?”

Agron groaned. “He does, but if there is one thing he is _skilled_ in, it’s throwing dice. What he earns in the arena, he can double in a single night.”

Nasir couldn’t help but laugh. “I take it you cannot then?”

Agron shrugged his shoulders. “I will throw them occasionally.”

“And lose all his coin in the process.” They both turned their attention to a laughing Duro, as he walked through the doorway. “Do not let him fool you. He may be skilled in wielding a sword and wrestling, but he is as helpless as a newborn babe when it comes to dice.”

“You are a fucking ass.” Agron growled at his brother. Duro ignored him, still laughing as he sat on the bed across from them. Nasir couldn’t help but join in, playfully bumping his shoulder into the gladiator’s chest.

“I take it you earned much coin then?” Nasir absently asked Duro. He nodded, lightly tossing a small cloth bag in his hands. Although slightly muffled, the Syrian could still hear the clink of coins from within it.

“You best not show that off _bruder_ , and keep it hidden,” Agron admonished him. Duro rolled his eyes, but did as Agron said, hiding it amongst the few possessions scattered about the cell.

The sound of thunder rumbled through the ludus, as the storm reached them. Nasir could faintly hear the rain falling, but it was soon drowned out by the men coming through the halls, seeking shelter from it.

“Finally.” Duro groaned out. “It’s been far too long since we’ve seen rain.”

“If the gods favor us, it will continue through the night and day, so that we might have the day to rest,” Agron added.

“It would be a welcome reprieve, not a moment of rest since we’ve come here,” Duro grumbled, throwing his arm over his face to block out the light.

“Best get used to it brother.”

Duro grumbled something, his words muffled by his arm, so all that Nasir caught was “Fuck.”

Nasir yawned, and Agron did so a moment later. Reluctantly, the Syrian stood, stretching his arms above his head. “You take leave?” There was a bit of a whine in Agrons voice, and Nasir took a fair amount of pleasure in it.

“If I remember correctly, you’ve been telling me to sleep for the past two days.”

Duro snorted, which earned him a glare from Agron that went unnoticed.

“You use my own words against me?” Agron questioned.

Nasir laughed. “Well, I do need it.” He motioned to the half-sleep Duro. “You should both take to sleep as well.”

Duro answered with a loud snore and Agron with another yawn.  Nasir laughed quietly, bending slightly to take Agron’s face in his hands, and gently pressing his lips to the Germans. Agron’s hands took hold of his hips, gently tugging him into the Germans lap. Nasir instinctively deepened the kiss, coaxing Agron’s tongue to meet his. Agron tightened his grip on the Syrians hips, pulling him closer. His hands trailed over his sides, brushing against the still sensitive bruises. He hissed slightly, as they protested against the light touch.

Agron immediately paused, removing his hands from the Syrians side. “Apologies. I forget your wounds have yet to heal.”

Nasir took Agrons hands in his, pulling them to wrap around his back. “Think nothing of it. Your touch is far gentler than any I have ever felt before.”  Agron grinned, and leaned forward to place a kiss on the Syrians lips.

“Stay the night,” he murmured quietly. Nasir let out a “mhmmm” in answer, and Agron laid back, pulling the Syrian down with him. He crossed his arms across the Germans broad chest, pillowing his head on them, as Agron blew out the candles on the wall.

As the darkness surrounded them, he absently though he could do more than _survive_ here in the ludus. Just maybe, he could _thrive_ , as long as Agron was there.


	6. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life begins to become as normal as it can be in the ludus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe how long this took me to write. Apologies for the long gap between the chapters.  
> I can honestly say I don't like this chapter. I had to force it out, so that I can get to what I really want to write.

Nasir smiled as he woke up, cocooned in Agron’s arms. Nasir carefully freed one of his arms, brushing his fingers lightly over Agron’s sleeping face. The gladiator smiled in his sleep, and nuzzled his face into Nasir’s chest. He laughed, and breathed in Agron’s scent. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to come through the barred window, falling in the center of the cell.

It seemed Duro would not get his wish of having a day to spend at rest.

Nasir smiled, secretly happy for it. He liked watching Agron train. It was new and different from everything he’d ever seen.

Agron stirred slightly, wrapping his arms tighter around him. He grimaced slightly, the pressure on his bruises too much for how recent they still were. He groaned slightly, and Agron sleepily opened his eyes.

“What’s wrong,” he worriedly asked.

“It’s nothing, Agron.” Nasir smiled softly, comforted by how concerned Agron was.

Agron raised his eyebrows at him, not believing him for a moment. His green eyes quickly scanned over Nasir, and focused on the bruises still darkening his chest. He immediately loosened his arms. “Apologies Nasir. I didn’t mean-“

Nasir shook his head, and placed his fingers against Agron’s lips. “Don’t. You’re fine. They’re just sore is all.”

Agron rolled his eyes, still not believing him.

“Really Agron.” He smiled at his gladiator. “It’s all right. No more protests about it.”

Agron nodded, and Nasir removed his fingers, snuggling closer to him. He muttered quietly, “How long until you have to begin the days training?”

Agron glanced at the rays of sunlight, and grumpily muttered, “Soon.”

Nasir laughed quietly again. “Pity, I could stay like this a while longer.”

Agron smiled warmly, and pulled him closer, but keeping his grip light on him. He pressed feather light kisses to Nasir’s face, purposefully teasing him by avoiding his lips.

He tipped his head up, silently demanding a kiss. Agron only smiled wider, and pressed his lips to the stitches on his forehead again. “Agron.” He’d meant for it to be a growl, but it came out more of a whine.

Agron laughed lowly, and cupped his face sweetly. He rolled so that he leaning over Nasir, but none of Agron’s weight pressed down on him. Agron pressed his forehead to Nasir’s, his lips just hovering over the Syrians. “You look beautiful in the morning light, did you know that?”

Nasir blushed, sure that it was showing on his dark sin.  “You flatter,” he said shyly.

Agron smiled, those ever maddening dimples showing. “No, I simply say what I see. And what I see, is that your beauty is unrivaled in the first rays of morning light.”

Nasir blushed deeper if it was even possible. Agron shifted slightly, softly pressing his lips to Nasirs. His hands gripped tightly at Agron’s side, feeling the warm skin and toned muscles move underneath them. Nasir smiled at the feel of Agron’s lips against his own, and could feel Agron do the same, nipping at Nasir’s lip when he pulled away slightly. Agron smiled shyly down at Nasir, and they laughed together quietly.

Duro began to stir, murmuring in his native tongue quietly as he pulled his blanket over his head. The echos of the gladiators began to rumble through the stone halls of _ludus_. Only a few of the men were awake, but soon enough they all would be.

Duro grumbled some more, throwing his blanket off himself and onto the floor. “Is a little sleep too much to fucking ask?”

Duro glanced over at Nasir and Agron, and rolled his eyes. “And I wake to you both about to fuck. This is just a splendid morning.”

Nasir blushed again. He was sure his skin would turn red permanently sometime soon. “We were not about to fuck.”

“You’re current look says otherwise.”

He glanced up at Agron, who just shrugged his shoulders, not giving a care in the world.

Agron leaned down and whispered in Nasir’s ear, “Ignore him. He’s an awful morning person.”

He laughed quietly as Agron stood up and stretched his arms over his head, putting all of his glorious tanned skin and muscles on display. Nasir groaned for an entirely different reason as he sat up on Agron’s bedroll and stretched his arms.

“Breakfast should be ready soon, should it not?” He asked them both. More Agron than Duro, since Duro was still grumbling and from what he could tell, cursing in German.

Agron nodded in agreement. “It should be. Let’s go gather our share, before we end up with the last dregs of it.”

He held his forearm out to Nasir, and pulled the Syrian to his feet beside him. “Care to join us _bruder_?”

Duro grumbled, but stood up reluctantly, and trudged after them. Agron led the way through the halls, out into the fresh morning air. Most of the gladiators were out in the training square, stretching their arms and lazily walking about.

Nasir leaned against one of the stone pillars as Duro and Agron began to loosen out their muscles, Donar and another gladiator joining them. The gladiator had a kind smile, light hair, and a loud laugh, as he joked with the three Germans.

He was stretching his arms over his head, and looked at Nasir curiously. “You are the new _ludus_ slave, are you not? I didn’t have a chance to meet you yesterday.”

Nasir nodded. “I am. I’m called Nasir. And you?”

The man chucked quietly. “Varro. A free man who consigned himself to the life of a gladiator.”

Nasir cocked his head curiously, as the Germans all smiled. “Why would one willingly consign himself to a life such as this?”

Varro’s eyes were somewhat distant, but his ever present smile widened. “A wife and boy. I had debts that had grown too large for any one man to pay. Two years here and they would be cleared forever, and allow my family to start anew.”

Nasir smiled. “You are an honorable man for that. Your wife is lucky to have a man such as yourself.”

Agron shot him a look, his eyes narrowing slightly. He gave Agron a private smile, and Agron nodded in understanding.

Another gladiator came over and clapped Varro on the shoulder. The Champion of Capua. “She is a very lucky woman. Now only if you would pull your head from your ass, you might become the Champion of Capua yourself.” They both laughed together and Varro shrugged Spartacus’ hand off his shoulder.

“A challenge I shall one day rise to.” Varro’s eyes were full of mischief. “Champion.”

They all laughed loudly, and Spartacus turned his attention to Nasir. “Batiatus told me what you did for this House at the games. You have my gratitude for it Nasir.”

Nasir looked glanced around them all nervously and then down at his bare feet, ignoring the curious stares from Donar and Varro. He didn’t know what to say, without making it public knowledge of what he had done at the games. He still firmly believed that it would only cause the men to see him as one trying to gain position.

Spartacus continued on like nothing had happened. “Many here do not know of what you have done,” He glanced at Varro and Donar. “And I understand your reasoning behind it. I respect you all the more for it actually.”

Donar and Varro shared a look a shuffled off to gather breakfast.

“Could you have made that anymore fucking obvious Spartacus?” Agron hissed dangerously.

Spartacus gave Agron a hard look, but spoke to Nasir. “Many in the ludus are not worth your time and trust.” He turned his attention back to Nasir. “Varro and Donar though, _are_ worth it, should you choose to tell them what you have done for this house. They fought in the games that day, and owe you their lives.”

Spartacus’ eyes were firmly focused on him, and Nasir nodded hesitantly. Spartacus gave him a small smile, and then walked away to join Varro and Donar for breakfast.

Nasir looked out over the cliff, while Agron and Duro’s eyes followed Spartacus. He didn’t know what to think.  It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Spartacus. The Champions reputation preceded him, and Nasir knew that Spartacus was an honest man. If Spartacus said he could trust Varro and Donar, he would, but he was still not inclined to share his secret knowledge of the games.

The men were never allowed to leave the _ludus_ , save for when they fought in the games or were summoned to the villa above. He feared that if Varro or Donar became bored, or came across drink, their tongues might loosen, and then all in the _ludus_ would know of what he had done.

“Will you tell them,” Duro asked him. Agron growled lowly, his green eyes darting around.

Nasir slowly shook his head. “No. I still believe it best that the less people know, the better it will be.”

Duro nodded, stretching his arms above his head. “Spartacus is right you know. Of all those you can trust here, besides me and my brother, Varro and Donar are the only other honorable men here. They would not betray your trust.”

Nasir was careful with his next words, not knowing how close the brothers were with Varro and Donar. “It is not that I do not trust them. I believe them honorable men. The concern lies more with the drink that I know flows through the halls of every ludus, and the loose tongues that might follow.”

Duro looked a bit sheepish, and Agron gave him a small nod.

“I do not mean to offend them, or what you think of them-” Nasir quickly started, but Agron cut him off.

“Do not worry, you offend neither them nor us. You speak the truth, despite how bitter it is.” Agron smiled kindly down at him, and Nasir breathed a sigh of relief. The gladiators behind them began to talk louder, and Nasir looked peered around the pillar he was leaning against. One of the ludus slaves had just brought a large metal pot out, and the gladiators were lining up to receive their breakfast.

Nasir’s stomach grumbled, and he glanced at Agron and Duro, unsure if he should wait or not. The other ludus slaves stayed far from the gladiators, some had wooden weapons in their hands, while others just stood idly, keeping a careful eye on the men.

He did not know where he stood in the _ludus_ hierarchy. From Batiatus’ words and favors, it seemed he had the highest position among the _ludus_ slaves. He also knew that no matter his standing among them, even the lowest gladiator still had ranking far out weighing his own.

The day before he hadn’t even concerned himself with it, still becoming accustomed to his new life. Now though, he was firmly aware of his position, and Egnatius’ poisonous words still rang in his ears.

“Nasir?” Agron’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Is something troubling you?”

Nasir glanced at Agron, and then back down at his bare feet, not knowing how to voice his thoughts. “Go get your breakfast. I’ll wait until you and the rest of the gladiators have eaten.”

Agron and Duro’s brows furrowed. “Why would you wait to eat?” Duro asked. “You need your strength, so that your wounds might heal faster.”

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear indifferent. “I-um…”

“Eat.” Nasir jumped slightly at the sound of Doctore’s voice, and turned to look at him. “Your concerns are unneeded.” Doctore jerked his head toward the cook. “Follow those fools, and eat your fill.” Nasir smiled sheepishly, and Doctore gave him a faint one in return. The man walked away, holding his hands behind his back with his ever present whip.

Agron and Duro looked confused, not understanding what had just happened. “Nasir, what…?”

Nasir waved his hand. “It is nothing.”

Neither of the brothers were convinced, but any protests were cut off by the loud crack of Doctore’s whip against the sand. “We begin training within the hour. Finish your food and gather your armor. Half-rations for the remainder of the week for those not ready.”

The men nodded, and grumbled amongst themselves. Nasir took Agron’s hand and tugged him to where the cook was. He picked up a bowl, and pressed another into Agron’s hand. “Eat,” he said, giving Agron a half smile. “We’ll talk more when you take midday meal.” Nasir held out his bowl to the cook, who filled it with porridge.

Agron nodded, and held out his own bowl to the cook. Hamilcar hailed Duro, so they were left alone to eat their breakfast together. They sat at one of the tables, the sun warm on Nasir’s skin. They ate in silence for a few moments, Nasir’s eyes greedily glancing at Agron, and blushing when he caught Agron’s eyes on him.

Nasir occasionally glanced around, watching as the other _ludus_ slaves ran about. “I’m going to ask Doctore what my duties are.” He said absently, eating a spoonful of the porridge.

Agron swallowed his bite. “What for?” His eyes glanced over the fading bruises. “Surely you are not rested enough? I do not wish to see you hurt yourself further.”

Nasir was thoughtful for a moment. “I cannot sit idle like this. It’s not in my nature.” He gave Agron a coy smile. “And the day shall pass faster if I have something to distract myself with.”

Agron grinned cheekily, and it took all of Nasir’s self-control to not kiss those maddening dimples. Among other things. “Is my training not distracting enough?”

Nasir smirked, and turned so that he was straddling the bench, and leaned toward Agron. “It is very distracting. Enough to drive one mad with….”

“With what?” Agron asked far too eagerly.

Nasir raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to wait until tonight to find out.”

Agron leaned towards Nasir, bumping his forehead against the Syrians’ affectionately. “You would torture me so?” Nasir smiled at the mock pouting.

“Consider it a reward, after a long days training.”

Agron smiled, and pressed his forehead against Nasirs. “The night cannot come fast enough for me.”

Nasir smiled, his eyes straining to stay focused on Agron’s blazing green ones. “The sun shall set before you realize it.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Agron’s lips, ignoring Duro and Hamilcar’s cat calls.  He pulled away slightly, and Agron pouted at the loss of contact.

Nasir smiled, taking Agron’s hand and pressing feather light kisses to his knuckles. “Finish your breakfast, and gather your armor. I’d hate to see you reduced to half-rations.” He took one last bite of his porridge and stood up.

“My words will not sway you?” Agron asked, concern etched in his voice once again. Nasir felt his heart swell slightly, still in awe that Agron cared for him.

He shook his head slightly. “They will not, but you have no reason to be concerned. I dislike sitting idle for long, but I would not do this if I did not feel I could.”

Agron nodded, and shoved another spoonful of porridge into his mouth as he stood, and taking a seat across from Duro and Hamilcar. Nasir laughed quietly as he deposited his bowl in front of the cook. He quickly scanned the courtyard for Doctore, and saw him standing alone at the cliffs edge. Nasir walked over, the sand crunching quietly underneath his feet.

“Doctore?” He asked hesitantly. Doctore’s eyes flicked to him, and he took that as a sign for him to continue. “I cannot sit idle much longer, before I go mad.”

Doctore gave him a curious look. “Your wounds are still fresh. I would not think less if you choose to rest a day or two longer.”

Nasir shrugged. “So many have said, but I still choose to begin what is required of me.”

Doctore gave him a dry smile. “An admirable quality.”

Nasir looked out over the cliffs edge, to the lands below. “One born of a life of servitude.”

Doctore nodded solemnly. “Such a life does not diminish it though.”

Nasir let out a dry laugh. “If that is what you believe.”

“It’s what this House has taught me. Look about his place.” Doctore gave him a look, and he did as commanded, glancing at the gladiators. “They are slaves, but yet some of them have risen to be Gods of the arena. Their names to echo for a thousand years.”

Nasir looked back to Doctore. “I am no gladiator, Doctore. I will never rise to such heights. When I die, my name will be forever lost to history.”

 “Even the lowest may rise to such heights Nasir. Loyalty in this House comes with rich rewards,” he paused, making sure Nasir was listening to him, “You may yet rise within this House.”

The look Doctore gave Nasir told him that this discussion was over. He sighed, and nodded. “Yes, Doctore.”

“Stay close to my side during the day’s training. If I ask, you will give me practice swords, or the _gladius_ if proper instruction is required. Administer water to those who need it, and pay attention to _all_ of the men.”

Nasir blushed slightly, and Doctore let out a chuckle. “Once the days training has ended, you will help the others gather the practice weapons, and store them away for the night.”

Nasir nodded in understanding, and Doctore stepped away from him, cracking his whip against the ground. “Begin the days training.”

The other _ludus_ slaves quickly produced the practice weapons from several chests, handing them to their respective owners. He offered a few of them smiles, when they met his eyes, but they did not return them, quickly looking away from him. He wondered at it, but did not have time to brood upon it.

He watched Agron and Duro collect their swords from one of the slaves, their padded armor strapped on. They grinned at him, and Agron pushed Duro forward onto the sands, goading him into attacking.

Nasir laughed as Duro struck out at Agron, and then reluctantly turned his gaze back to Doctore. The man casually walked among the gladiators, barking out instructions as well as insults. One of the Gaul’s kept making the same mistake, and Doctore quickly lost his patience.

“Nasir,” Doctore barked. “Gladius.”


	7. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crixus attempts to regain his former position as the Champion of Capua, infuriating both Nasir and Agron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally up to what is canon. This chapter slightly follows the episode "Whore".

At the midday meal, Agron pulled him off to his cell once they gathered their meal, and asked him what had been bothering him before breakfast. He’d mumbled out the words, and Agron had shook his head at him and laughed. Nasir wasn’t amused, and threw his wooden spoon at his head, calling him an ass.

Agron rubbed at where the spoon hit him, still laughing. He then proceeded to Nasir how foolish he had been, thinking he was below them all. Nasir had tried to argue, intending to say that he really was below the gladiators, but Agron pulled him in for a kiss, wiping his mind clear of thought for several moments.

Agron bumped his forehead against his, and smiled at him softly. “You are my equal, and ignore anyone that would tell you otherwise.”

Nasir nodded, slightly breathless from where Agron had him pressed against the wall.

Duro came to find them when Doctore ordered them all back to training, and howled all the way though the ludus halls after catching them kissing like teenage lovers.

They weren’t really bothered by it.

~~*~~

That night, he and Agron found themselves alone in Nasir’s cell, the door firmly wedged shut. Duro had been warned not to interrupt them for anything. Agron was sitting on his bedroll, wearing just a wrap of cloth around his waist. He was wearing his breeches, having finished his bath before Agron and returning to his cell first.

He was straddling Agron’s lap, his thick arms wrapped securely around Nasir’s waist. Nasir pressed his forehead against Agron’s smiling shyly at his gladiator. He smiled more, thinking how quickly Agron had become _his_ gladiator. He softly pressed his lips to Agron, faintly tasting sand and dust and something innately Agron. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

He felt Agron smile, preventing them both from deepening the kiss. Agron’s hands drifted lower, settling on his hips, rubbing his thumbs in circles. Nasir leaned into the touch, his muscles somewhat sore from the day’s effort.

“Regretting your decision to begin your duties?” Agron asked cheekily.

Nasir rolled his eyes, and tugged on one of Agron’s dreadlocks. “I’d rather tend to them, than sit idle.”

Agron chuckled, and rubbed at the small of his back. Nasir groaned, tucking his head under Agron’s chin.

Agrons gentle hands worked miracles, working loose every knot that developed throughout the day. His gladiator pressed kisses to the top of his head occasionally, making idle conversation with him. It was rather one-sided, as Nasir was exhausted, but would not admit to it. Agron called him a stubborn fool. He didn’t argue that, instead only laughing quietly, and settling more comfortably in Agron’s lap.

Soon he fell asleep, safe in Agron’s arms.

~~*~~

The next morning Nasir lazily watched as the gladiators stretched and strapped on their armor in preparation for the days training. Agron and Duro were standing near Donar and he swore he could see the friendly insults flying before they had even picked up their swords for the day.

He turned as some of the men began to clap and cheer, surprised to see Crixus emerging from the ludus, dressed for training. The Gaul walked over to Doctore, and they quickly exchanged words.

Doctore smiled, and spoke to all the men. “Take note! A true Champion rejoins the brotherhood!”

Nasir raised his eyebrows slightly, giving Crixus a skeptical look. He already knew from Agron’s words that Doctore did not favor Spartacus, but to say the Gaul was the _true_ champion? He would have perished at the end of Theokoles sword, had Spartacus not been there to cleave the titans head from his body.

He looked to Duro and Agron, and saw them snickering, as were Varro and Spartacus behind them. He smiled, wondering what the brothers had said. The Gaul’s all began to beat their weapons against their shields as Crixus took up his sword, turning in a small circle to look at all of the gladiators.

Nasir rolled his eyes at the challenge.

Doctore spoke again. “You will spar with Duro.” Nasir glanced at Duro, not missing the annoyed look on Crixus’ face.

“The German?” The Gaul said skeptically. “He has yet to set foot in the arena.” The grins fell from both Agron and Duro’s faces, exchanging them for sour looks at Crixus.

“And you have been long absent,” Doctore reasoned. “Prove yourself against the man and see advancement.”

Nasir took a small pleasure in seeing the disappointed look on Crixus’ face.

“And who shall face Ashur?”

Nasir glared at the Syrian as he walked out onto the sands, limping slightly. The gladiators all laughed and chuckled, ignoring Ashur’s words. None of the men held any respect towards him.

“Choose carefully, for I long for blood.”

Nasir doubted he would spill any of his brothers’ blood, but he had no doubt they would try to spill Ashurs. Fucking snake.

“You train?” Doctore asked skeptically.

“I do.” Ashur looked far too pleased with himself.

“By whose word?” Doctore demanded to know.

Ashur lowered the practice sword he’d been waving about. “The dominus himself promised that I would rejoin the brotherhood, once I was freed from the fucking brace.” He looked around at the gladiators, as if daring them to argue.

There was no need however, as Batiatus’ voice called out from the balcony above them. “Ashur!”

Ashur slowly turned around to face their master, and looked up to the balcony.

“A word.”

Crixus laughed. “The master calls his dog.”

All of the men laughed at Ashur, Nasir included. Ashur stormed past them all, glaring at Nasir as he passed the pillar he had been leaning against. Nasir wasn’t particularly bothered by it, and simply ignored it. He went over to one of the chests, and pulled out two swords. He walked between the men, just dodging Donar and his axe, as he playfully tried to hit him on the head.

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to be faster than that, if you wish to survive in the arena.”

Varro roared with laughter and Donar wacked him on the head instead.

Nasir laughed, and walked up to the brothers. He offered them their swords, not missing how they were both still glaring at Crixus. When they didn’t take them, he rolled his eyes, and jabbed the hilts into their stomachs. They both grunted, and gave him half-hearted glares.

“A warning would have been nice,” Duro grumbled.

“Apologies, but you were too busy glaring daggers at Crixus.”

Duro flicked his eyes back to Crixus, and Nasir rolled his eyes. “Fight the Gaul, but be careful. He may be recently healed, but he has been fighting in the games for years, and will still not be easy to defeat.” He glanced to Crixus, watching as he paced impatiently. “He is eager to rise to his previous position, and will no doubt try to beat you into the sands to regain it.”

Duro nodded, and took his sword from Nasir. He stomped over to Crixus, who immediately swung at him. Agron growled dangerously. Nasir stepped in front of him, and commanded his attention. “Agron, it’s just the days training. Doctore will stop Crixus if he has to.” Agron wasn’t convinced by his words, and in all honestly Nasir himself wasn’t sure if he believed them.

He put the sword in Agrons hand, and pushed him over to Hamilcar. “Teach the Sardinian that it would be wise not to tease us,” he playfully told Agron.

The German grinned widely and nodded. He captured Nasir’s lips in a kiss, only turning to face Hamilcar when he made retching noises.

“You’ll regret that,” Nasir warned.

Agron swung out at Hamilcar, grinning devilishly.

Nasir made his way back to the pillar he had been leaning against, quite enjoying the cool shade.

He heard Duro cry out, and pushed himself off the pillar. He growled lowly as Crixus advanced on Duro, hitting at him with shield, sword, and body. His eyes flicked to Agron, grateful he had not noticed yet. Agron was protective of Duro, and more so when it came to the Gaul’s they hated so much.

Crixus disarmed Duro, and kicked at his stomach, forcing him back. The Gaul struck at his shield, and Duro, already off balance, fell to the sands. Nasir looked to Doctore, annoyed to find him simply leaning against one of the other pillars.

“This isn’t the arena!” Duro yelled at Crixus as he stood up.

Crixus rolled his sword in his hand. “The world is my arena, pup.”

Fuck this was not going to end well.

Crixus stuck his sword into the sand, Duro threw his shield at him in his frustration, giving up the last defense he had. Crixus easily deflected it, and advanced on Duro. Nasir cringed, knowing what was about to happen. He looked to Doctore again, but the man hadn’t moved.

Nasir flicked his eyes briefly to Agron, just in time to see him kick Hamilcar away.

Duro tried to throw a punch at Crixus, but the Gaul just grabbed him and threw him to the ground. He looked pointedly at Doctore. “Send me a man,” he demanded. Nasir swore under his breath as Agron angrily stomped over to Crixus, punching him square in the jaw.

Fuck.

Crixus quickly retaliated, and they were soon in an all out brawl. Nasir looked at Doctore, who _finally_ moved to stop the madness. Crixus knocked Agron to the ground, blood dripping out of his Germans nose.

Agron leapt back to his feet, but before either could throw another punch, Doctore yelled out. “Stand down!”

Agron looked ready to disobey, glaring at Crixus. “Agron!” Agron tore his gaze from Crixus to Doctore. “Duro!” Duro made a face as he stood.

“Enough. Half rations for the remainder of the week.” Doctore lowered his voice slightly. “Test my patience again and I’ll see you both to the mines.”

Nasir glared at Doctore. The mines were the cruelest threat he had ever heard. A death sentence to all who were condemned to it.

Crixus smirked, and went to the water barrel. Duro picked up his sword from the sand, and Agron quickly walked over to his brother, inspecting him for wounds. Duro waved him off, grumbling something in German at his brother.

Agron rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Duro motioned towards Nasir, and then pushed Agron towards him. Agron made a face, and walked over to him. Nasir carefully took Agron’s face in his hands, inspecting his bleeding nose. He gently ran his fingers over Agron’s nose. His gladiator winced slightly, but Nasir didn’t feel anything out of place.

“It’s not broken. The gods favor you.”

Agron only growled in response.

Nasir sighed, and tugged Agron’s face down to his. “How’s Duro?”

“Frustrated, but just some bruises that will heal soon enough.”

Nasir ran his thumbs across Agron’s cheeks. “Do not be so quick to challenge the Gaul. I would not have you injured further.”

“You would not have me defend my brother?” Agron angrily asked.

Nasir quickly shook his head. “No, but you must give him the chance to defend himself first Agron.”

Agron glanced over his shoulder at Duro. “He doesn’t need to defend himself. That is what I am for.”

Nasir sighed. “Agron, please...”

Agron gave him a small smile. “They won’t fight again today, so you need not fear for my safety.” He gently tugged Nasir’s hands from his face, kissed his forehead, and then returned to training.

Nasir groaned, not at all convinced by Agron’s words. Agron had to let Duro learn to fight his own battles. He would not be there to protect him every time. And what would happen in the arena, where every man stood alone?

Agron wiped the blood from his face as he picked his sword up from the sand, and once again began to spar with Duro. He could see Duro was frustrated. They both were really. Neither one of them were trading their usual insults and taunts, instead both of their faces were angrily set.

Nasir cast a glare at Crixus as he walked past him with one of the guards.

Fucking Gaul.

~~*~~

Nasir was sitting on the bench next to Agron as they cleaned themselves of the days dust and sand. Duro was standing beside them. Both of the brothers were once again glaring at Crixus as he cleaned himself.

“Fucking Gaul,” Duro muttered angrily.

Nasir leaned forward, his hair falling over his face as he rolled his eyes.

“Turn your thoughts,” Agron told his brother. “I’ll have at him soon enough.”

Agron completely missed the sharp glare Nasir gave him. Duro was satisfied with Agron’s words though, and glared at Crixus as he left the bath.

“You wish your brother dead?” Agron turned his head sharply, and Nasir sat up startled at Spartacus’ words.

“Who speaks such a thing?” Agron growled. He looked ready to end the life of Spartacus.

The Thracian turned to look at Agron. “Your actions.”

“I only wish to protect him,” Agron said defensively.

“And who will do so in the arena, where every man must stand for alone?” It frightened Nasir, how accurately Spartacus echoed his own thoughts. “You do him no favors.”

Agron breathed heavily, and he put his hand on Agron’s thigh, lightly squeezing it. Agron looked at him, and smiled, giving him a small nod.

Varro’s angry shouts interrupted Spartacus. “You lie!” He grabbed Ashur, and threw him against the wall.

“Varro! Varro! Hey!” Spartacus bolted up, and was at Varro’s side in an instant. Nasir looked at Agron slightly confused, and was met with an equally confused look from his gladiator.

“Tell him you lie,” Varro demanded of Ashur.

Ashur looked to Spartacus. “I did what you paid me to do. I sought out his wife, but she was not there.”

Nasir stood up, sensing trouble. Agron stood up next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head.

“The boy?” Spartacus asked.

Ashur shrugged. “I found no one. But there were traces of blood on the floor and-“

Varro had had enough, and stuck Ashur across the face. Ashur struck back, as all the men began to cheer for Varro.

“Varro, regain your senses!” Spartacus yelled at his friend. “Calm yourself!” Varro slammed Ashur’s head into the wall. Spartacus grabbed at Varro, trying to pull him away, but Varro pushed him off, and attacked Ashur once more.

They punched and hit at each other, and Varro threw them both into the bath. The men cheered louder. He looked up at Agron. “They must stop this, before one of them ends up dead.”

“If Ashur is the one who leaves this life, the men will be happy.” Nasir glared at Agron.

Doctore must have heard the chaos, as he walked in not seconds later, his eyes taking in the room in one quick sweep. “Guards!” The other men began to join in the fight, holding Ashur back as Varro continued to punch him. Spartacus jumped in the water, and grabbed a hold of Varro. Another gladiator grabbed Varro as well, and they held him back from Ashur as the guards rushed in and grabbed the two of them.

Varro continued to try and break free of the guards hold as they dragged him from the baths.

“This is insanity,” Nasir said absently.

“ _That_ is what happens when one deals with Ashur,” Agron explained.

“You know I hold no love for the man, but he was at no fault. It sounds as if he did what he was paid to do, and reported it back to Varro. Varro let his anger best him, and did not let Ashur finish his words.”

He ran his hand through his loose hair, and walked out of the baths, knowing Agron would follow him. “I did not hear Ashur say he found any bodies, only blood. So his family may yet be alive.”

Agron nodded in agreement, pushing open the door to Nasir’s cell. “They may yet be alive, but I can assure you, Ashur would have been far from kind even if delivering news of their deaths.”

Nasir sighed heavily as he sat on his bedroll, grabbing the breeches he had left their earlier. “I have no doubt of that, but Varro did overreact.” He tugged his breeches on, not missing the greedy look in Agron’s eyes.

Agron leaned against the stone walls, crossing his arms on his chest. He was quiet for a few moments, and Nasir waited patiently for him to voice his thoughts. “Even if Varro did overreact, can you blame him? The reason he consigned himself to this life was to provide for _them_ , and to rectify the mistakes he made.”

Nasir was thoughtful for a moment. “I fear his anger will come back to haunt him. Ashur does not seem the man to let such a thing slide.”

“Varro is the right hand man of Spartacus. Ashur won’t dare offend either of them. They hold much sway here now.”

Nasir nodded. “And what do you think of Spartacus’ words?”

Agron feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

Nasir raised an eyebrow. “Will you heed Spartacus’ words? Of leaving Duro to fend for himself?”

Agron groaned, pushing himself off the wall and flopping down next to Nasir on his bedroll. “I do not know. Both of you have suggested it, but it goes against everything I know. I’ve _always_ protected him.”

Nasir took Agron’s hand in both of his. “You can still protect him. You can protect him better, if he learns to protect himself.”

Agron grunted, running his free hand over his face.

“I know the popularity both you and Duro have in the arena. Brothers are a rarity to find.” He could see a faint smile on Agron’s face, as he thought back to that day. “But what will happen if Batiatus chooses to one day have you fight separate of each other?”

Agron didn’t reply. Nasir knew it was a hard truth, one he did not want to accept either. After a life of slavery though, he was forced to acknowledge the hard reality he lived in.

“I doubt that day will come. We fought well together, easily besting Solonius’ men.” He moved his hand, smiling at Nasir. “With your aid of course.”

Nasir smiled back. “You did fight well, but I still fear for the day when Batiatus might command you separated in the arena.”

Agron was quiet and thoughtful for a few minutes, his green eyes fixed on Nasir. Eventually he quietly said, “I will give thought to what both you and Spartacus have said. Let us leave it at that for now.”

Nasir nodded in agreement. He knew Agron would do whatever he thought was best for Duro. 

~~*~~

Doctore had once more ordered Crixus to spar with Duro. The Gaul was relentless, attacking Duro again and again. Nasir watched angrily, a deep frown on his face. Agron was sparring with an unfamiliar gladiator, and noticed moments later. He held up his hand, his eyes fixed on his little brother. Crixus knocked Duro the ground, and the German had to roll away to avoid his attacks.

Crixus backed off a moment later, mockingly laughing at Duro. Duro growled, and Crixus pointed his practice sword at him. “The pup bares his teeth.”

Nasir growled to himself, and was slightly annoyed to see Agron chuckling along with the rest of the men.

The guards half-dragged Varro past him, dumping him in the training square.

Duro’s cried of pain called him back to attention, and he clenched his jaw and fists as Crixus wacked Duro on the back with his sword. Hard.

Crixus paused for a moment, his focus transfixed on something else, and Duro immediately got to his feet, trying to gain advantage. He swung his sword at Crixus, who easily deflected it, disarmed him, and proceeded to beat him back, finally flipping him onto his back angrily.

“Your form returns,” Doctore observed. “Pair with Hamilcar.”

That was _all_ Doctore had to say? Nothing about Crixus unnecessarily beating the fuck out of Duro? He glared at Doctore’s back, grateful the man could not see it.

Duro pushed himself slightly up, looking to Agron. He looked to Agron as well, waiting for him to at least help him up. He took a half a step forward, but then stopped, looking at Spartacus. Nasir glanced at the Thracian, and found him shaking his head slightly.

Agron glanced at Duro, and then turned his back on his brother, returning to his sparring with the unfamiliar gladiator.

Nasir glared at Agron now. He’d told Agron to let Duro fight his own battles, not leave him _completely_ alone.

~~*~~

Duro sat away from that night at dinner, sitting with Hamilcar and Donar instead. Nasir noticed he was quiet and sullen, not talking to either of his friends.

“Why did you not help him up today?” Nasir asked quietly, looking to Agron.

Agron looked over to Duro, and then back to his food. “Both you and Spartacus said I should let him fend for himself. I did just that.”

Nasir sighed heavily, and pushed his food away. “I did not mean that you not even help him up Agron.”

Agron pushed his food away as well, running his hands over his dreadlocks. “I do what I have to Nasir, to make sure he learns how to survive. Please, don’t ask any more of it.”

Nasir glanced at Duro, then back to Agron. “So long as you don’t abandon him to Crixus’ brutality. This is a hard life to live Agron, more so without ones family.”

“Duro is strong,” Agron began. “He’s just had me to fight all his battles his entire life. He will learn to fight his own soon enough. Then he will be unstoppable.” Nasir easily detected the pride in Agron’s voice.

Nasir nodded, and Agron jabbed his spoon into his bowl. “I don’t care for it anymore than you do, but I’ve given it much thought since last night.” He gave Nasir a small smile. “I would not do this if I did not believe it was in his best interest.”

Nasir returned the smile. “I trust your judgment on this, as you know better than I do.” He took Agron’s hand in his own, commanding his attention. “Just do not forget the gift you have, to have your own brother under the same roof as you.”

Agron smiled, and pulled Nasir close. “I would never forget such a blessing. Nor the one that currently sits beside me.”


	8. Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasir is rewarded further for his loyalty to the house of Batiatus.

“Nasir!”

He turned as Doctore called his name. The midday meal had just passed, and the men were returning to the days training.

“Yes Doctore?”

“Dominus has summoned you. Meet his guards at the gates.”

Doctore turned back to the men, leaving Nasir more than a little confused. He did as commanded though, and quickly made his way through the ludus halls. The metal screeched as the one of the guards unlocked the gate, and he followed the guard on the other side up the stairs and into the villa.

Batiatus was in his office, papers scattered across his desk. Nasir frowned slightly as Ashur limped past him. The Syrian only gave him a wry smile, and Nasir scowled in return.

The lanista looked up at him. “Tiberius. Or perhaps I should call you Nasir, since that is the name I have heard drifting up from the ludus.”

Nasir cast his eyes to the floor. “Apologies Dominus.”

The lanista laughed. “None needed. If you wish to cast off anything from your former shit eating master, you have my blessing to do so.”

Nasir breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled faintly.

“Doctore has told me you are quickly leaning the ways of the ludus below. He believes you to be a fine addition. You have earned his respect, and mine as well. A great feat, for such little time here. As such, you will be branded with the mark of the Brotherhood.”

Nasir looked up sharply. “What?!” He quickly added, “Dominus” a moment later.

Batiatus gave him a look, permission to continue his thoughts.

“I am but a ludus slave. I am not a gladiator. Why would I be given the mark of the Brotherhood? Does that not belong to them alone? And none of the other ludus slaves bear it. Why should I?”

Batiatus stood up, and motioned for Nasir to follow him. Nasir was still confused, but obediently followed the lanista out onto the balcony. He smiled to himself, as he caught a glimpse of Agron training below.

“Look at these men Nasir.” Batiatus waved his hand out, and Nasir moved to stand next to him. “The mark of the Brotherhood is more than just a sign of their life as a gladiator. It is a sign of unwavering loyalty. They will fight for this house, for its honor. They will die for this house if necessary. It is the highest honor they can achieve.”

Batiatus turned slightly to look at him. “The reason none of the ludus slaves bear the mark of the Brotherhood, is because they have not proven themselves loyal to this house. They are worthless, but to me and the gladiator they tend to.” Nasir cringed slightly, disliking the thought of being deemed worthless.

“But you though,” the lanista laughed again, “You are a loyal man. Every slave must bear a sign of their servitude. I would have you given the mark of the Brotherhood for it.”

Nasir nodded. “Has any other ever been given the mark?”

Batiatus nodded. “But one. Pietros, your predecessor. Unfortunate events caused him to take his life. He was but ever loyal to this house though. As such, he was given it early in his service in the ludus.”

Nasir thought for a moment, thinking to when Donar had briefly mentioned Pietros to him days before. He felt like there was more than ‘unfortunate circumstance’ to the boy’s death.

Batiatus clapped him on the shoulder. “Now then. Once the days training has concluded, Doctore will see you given the mark. As such, you will also swear yourself to my service. Are we in agreement?”

As if Nasir had any choice _but_ to be in agreement. “Yes Dominus.”

“Good. Now return to the ludus, and continue proving yourself loyal to this house.”

Nasir bowed his head, and left Batiatus on the balcony watching the men. He once more followed a guard back down to the ludus, briefly passing the domina and another yellow haired woman in huddled conversation.

He glanced at Agron and Duro as he returned to the training square. It seemed neither one of them had noticed his brief absence. No matter. He would tell them at dinner, and gauge their thoughts.

He noticed Doctore watching him, and he gave the man a nod. Doctore nodded in return, then returned to barking out instructions to the men.

Varro slung his arm over his shoulders, playfully wrestling with him for a moment. “And where did you disappear off to? Having too many thoughts of your gladiator?”

Nasir elbowed him in the ribs. “Do you not have training to attend to?”

“He avoids the question. Surely confirmation if I ever saw it,” Varro jested, grinning widely.

Nasir rolled his eyes. “Your wit astounds. Even the gods are speechless.” Varro pursed his lips, but shrugged it off quickly, his grin returning just as fast.

“Very well then,” Varro sighed, feigning insult. “To my training I shall return.”

Nasir shook his head, smiling quietly to himself. It still surprised him that Varro was an honorable Roman. The only one he had ever met.

Varro challenged Duro, and Agron stepped aside quickly to allow it. Donar was nearby, and quickly challenged Agron.

Nasir silently thanked him, wanting Agron to be distracted. Varro was not a cruel man, so he would not needlessly beat Duro into the ground as Crixus had the previous day, but everyone knew that Agron tended to stop thinking when Duro was threatened with pain.

Donar presented quite a challenge for Agron, as he was the only one in the ludus who trained with an axe. He had little skill with a sword, but his brute strength made him a master of the axe. It took all of Agron’s skill to avoid being hit, and deliver them in kind.

~~*~~

Hours later, the sun began to set, and Doctore called an end to the days training. Nasir walked forward, taking both Agron and Duro’s practice swords. “I have something to discuss with the both of you,” he said quietly. “At dinner. Keep the others away.” They both nodded, and Nasir quickly scurried off to put their practice swords away, gathering Spartacus’, Varro’s, and Donar’s axe on the way. He almost tripped over his own feet, trying to balance it all in his rush to talk with Agron and Duro.

He met them in line, silently waiting for the cook to fill his bowl. Once he did, he led the way to the farthest table, so that prying ears might not hear them.

Agron sat next to him, and Duro across. “What is it Nasir?” Duro asked, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Dominus has decided to give me the mark of the Brotherhood,” he said quietly. Agron and Duro shared a look of surprise, before looking back to Nasir. “What do you think of it?”

“Did he tell you his reason?” Agron asked, deflecting Nasir’s question for now.

“He says that it is a sign of loyalty, and that only those who prove themselves are given it.” Nasir paused for a moment, then continued. “He told me that only one other ludus slave has ever been given it. Pietros. Did you know the boy?”

Agron shook his head. “We came here after he passed. Donar mentioned him briefly, when we asked of the Beast of Carthage, Barca.”

“Barca?” The name was somewhat familiar, having heard Egnatius mention him once or twice. “What did he have to do with Pietros?”

“He was the boy’s ‘lover’.” Agron answered, his last word filled with scorn and bitterness.

Nasir gave him a look as he took a bite of food, but Duro was the one who answered it. “Barca purchased his freedom, but left Pietros behind. Many of the men are not happy with him. He filled the boys head with thoughts of freedom, only to leave him in captivity with not even a second thought.”

Agron let out a heavy sigh. “One of the gladiators took to raping Pietros, since Barca was his only protection. Death was his way of finding freedom.”

Nasir worriedly looked around, wondering if the rapist was one of the men standing near them. He knew his situation well. Agron was his protection. No one would dare to touch him, so long as he was alive. But if he fell in the arena... Nasir shuddered at the awful thought.

Agron put a comforting hand on his lower back, pulling him close. “Spartacus delivered him to the afterlife, after Pietros took his life. His body lies scattered on the rocks below the cliff.”

Nasir let out a shaky breath, but nodded. “Pity, for one to do such a thing to one they claimed to love.”

Agron nodded in agreement, pressing a kiss to his hair.

“Why are you worried about receiving the mark?” Duro asked, disliking where the conversation had gone.

“I fear I have not earned it, and fear that many will question why I have been given it.”

Agron rolled his eyes and shook his head, while Duro slumped his head into his hand. “ _You_ are the reason we still grace this life Nasir, as are many in this ludus. If _you_ had not told Batiatus, many of us would be rotting beneath the earth right now. _You_ have earned the mark. If the others want to question why you have been given it, then let them. It is of no matter. Batiatus is there master, and they must accept it.”

Nasir smiled half-heartedly and Duro kicked him under the table.

“Fuck! You ass! What was that for?” He rubbed at his bruised shin.

Agron and Duro shared another look, and then burst into howling laughter.

“What is so fucking funny?” He rubbed his leg harder.

“You.” Duro said through his laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. “You’ve never cursed in such a manner before!”

Agron slumped onto the table, his head in his hands he was laughing so hard. Nasir flicked his ear, and tried to kick Duro under the table in return. Duro jumped out of the way, and Agron rubbed at his ear.

“You kicked me you ass! What did you fucking expect? Me to thank you?”

Agron and Duro only howled louder. Fuck. He glared at them both, waiting for their laughter to die down.

It took a few minutes, as every time Agron and Duro looked at each other, they only laughed harder.

Assholes.

“Back to your original question Nasir,” Agron finally sputtered out, wiping tears from his face. “You do deserve the mark of the Brotherhood. You are one of us, even if you cannot take to the sands beside us.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking up sword with you again,” Nasir said with a sly look at Agron.

Agron pulled him close and nuzzled his neck, pressing light kisses to it. “I would teach you much. Perhaps one day you’ll even best me.”

Nasir smiled, pulling back slightly. “I welcome the challenge.”

Duro cleared his throat, and they both gave him slightly annoyed looks. He gave them a wide grin, and shoved another spoonful of food into his mouth.

“You are an ass _bruder_.”

Duro happily retorted, “Which is why we are blood, _bruder_.”

“You bicker like old women,” Nasir interjected, effectively shutting them both up. They both gave him mildly insulted looks.

He gave them an innocent look in return, looking up at them though his eye lashes. Agron fell beneath it in a second, but Duro did not.

“ _He_ may fall beneath that look,” Duro threw a glare at Agron, “But I will not.”

Agron just shrugged his shoulders, pulled Nasir so close that he was almost in Agron’s lap, and stuck his tongue out at his brother. Duro stuck his out in return.

“I take it back.” Nasir laughed, “You are like children.”

Agron and Duro shared another look, and Nasir knew while they would not admit to it, they could not deny it either.

~~*~~

When the sun had set, Batiatus appeared among the men. He briefly traded words with Spartacus, and then found Doctore. Nasir had been watching the other ludus slaves light a fire, his nervousness growing with every passing minute. He kept glancing at the brand on Agron’s arm, still raw and red.

Agron easily noticed, and threw his branded arm over Nasir’s shoulders, effectively removing it from his view.

He didn’t try to tell Nasir that it was less painful that it looked, or that it would only last a moment. Nasir was grateful for it. He didn’t want false hope that it would end quickly.

Agron however, did offer him words of encouragement. “It will hurt, but it the price one must pay. Once you have received it, you will stand as one of us. Remember that.”

Nasir gave him an exasperated smile and Batiatus approached them. Agron immediately stepped back, so that he stood next to Duro.

“The time has come Nasir.”

Nasir nodded. “Dominus.” Batiatus stepped aside, and motioned for him to go to Doctore. He did so, standing in front of the man. Doctore gave him a thin smile, and a barely their nod of his head. In his hand, he held a long metal rod, the end of it in the fire, the B a blazing red.

“Why does the boy receive the mark?” A gladiator shouted out. “He is not a fucking gladiator. He has not earned it.”

Nasir didn’t move. He only looked at Batiatus.

Doctore cracked his whip against the one who had spoken. “You do not question your Dominus’ orders, Rhaskos. You follow them.”

Rhaskos swore angrily, but didn’t voice further complaint. Another did though. “Dominus, why does he receive the mark?”

“Acer!” Doctore growled out.

Batiatus gave all of his men a hard look. “He receives the mark, because I fucking command it.” Nasir briefly locked eyes with Batiatus. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was the only way. He opened them, and gave Batiatus an almost imperceptible nod.

Batiatus nodded. “He is the reason that many of you still grace this world. During last week’s games, he was the one who confided in me, that Solonius had given his men advantage over ours, on orders of that preening shit eater Egnatius. A rare drug, costing more than your pathetic lives, from Rome. The bright sunlight, their only weakness. If he had not revealed what those fucks had done, you would have all been slain upon the sands of the arena.”

The men were completely silent. Nasir could feel all of their eyes upon him.

“He receives the mark for his loyalty to his fucking house. Is that understood?”

The gladiators made grunts and noises of what he assumed was approval, and Batiatus stepped in front of him.

“Kneel.”

Nasir did so, holding his right arm out on his knee.

Batiatus picked the brand up out of the fire. “Your life now promises meaning. Swear it to me.”

Nasir dutifully recited the words Doctore had instructed him in after dinner, slightly altered from the oath the gladiators swore. “I commit my flesh, my mind, my will to the glory of this ludus and the commands of my master, Batiatus. I swear to be burned, chained, beaten, or die by the sword for the honor of this house.”

Batiatus pressed the red hot brand to his forearm, and he clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palm. He made no sound thought, instinctively knowing it would be seen as a sign of weakness. He could fell his flesh blistering, smell his skin burning.

It lasted less than half a minute, and Batiatus removed the brand. Only then did Nasir look down at his forearm, the B on it an angry red, the skin raised.

He looked back up to Batiatus. “Welcome to the Brotherhood.” He gave Nasir a small smile, and handed the brand back to Doctore, leaving the men.

Nasir stood up, looking back down to his forearm. Fuck it hurt. He briefly looked up, surprised to see that all of the gladiators had approached him. Spartacus silently held out his forearm to him, and Nasir held out his. Spartacus firmly grasped it, just below the brand and gave him an approving nod.

Every gladiator did likewise. Even Crixus.

Nasir didn’t notice, but Agron was beaming at him the entire time. Words could not describe how proud he was of his little man.

Agron and Duro were the last to clasp his forearm, embracing him as a brother.

“Well done little man. Not a sound escaped you,” Duro said as he grasped Nasir’s forearm. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Nasir grinned back, still in awe that the gladiators now saw him as a brother, despite the fact that he would never set foot in the arena with him.

Duro released him, and left him alone with Agron. Agron gently grasped his forearm, smiling down at him. “I told you that you have more than earned the mark.”

Nasir grinned, let out a somewhat shaky breath. “Gratitude.”

Agron gave him a gentle tug on his arm, towards the ludus. “Come, the day has been long.”

Nasir happily followed him into the ludus, and into his cell, since Duro knew better than to interrupt them there.

 Agron wrapped his arms around his waist as he kicked the door shut, and pulled Nasir down to his bedroll with him. Nasir moved up his gladiators chest, so that he could press a light kiss to his lips, his hands tracing the firm muscles of Agron’s chest.

He faintly noted that his fingers came away coated in sweat and dust, but he didn’t care. Agron smelled primal and masculine, like a man should.

Nasir brought his knees up, so that he was straddling Agron’s hips. He grinned against his gladiators lips, and deepened it, coaxing Agron’s tongue to meet his.

He was faintly aware of Agron’s hands running down his sides, caressing his hips. Agron’s touch was light, but it lit a fire in him.

He moaned into Agron’s mouth, as he felt Agron harden underneath him. Agron moved his hands, so that they cupped his face, tangling his fingers in his long hair. Nasir smiled, and pulled away slightly, trying to catch his breath. He gazed down into the green depths of Agron’s twinkling eyes, and his smile only widened. His gladiator was perfection.

Agron let out a breathless laugh, and with a quick turn of his body, was hovering above Nasir. He lightly pressed his lips to Nasir’s, but pulled them away a minute later. Nasir groaned in protest, but Agron only flashed his dimples, and moved down his body, pressing light kisses to the fading bruises. He gently grasped Nasir’s forearm, pressing his lips softly to the skin just outside the brand.

Nasir closed his eyes, arching his back slightly, his hands grasping Agron’s biceps, and pulling him back up to his lips. Agron settled between his legs, kissing him deeply. Nasir pressed his knees tightly against Agron’s hips, locking him in place.

Agron only grinned. “You think I’m going somewhere little man?”

Nasir bit down on Agron’s lower lip in revenge for the pet name. “You’d never leave me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I noticed the Pietros had the mark of the brotherhood on his forearm in one of the earliest episodes of Spartacus, but that their was never any explanation for it. So I came up with my own. I also knew that Nasir needed to be branded a slave, but I refused to even think of him wearing that collar again.


End file.
